


Locking Up the Sun

by cobaltmoony, eyesofshinigami



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Snowpiercer Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, But not between main characters, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Eventual Smut, Implied Child Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Omega Bucky Barnes, Standard A/B/O Warnings of Dub-Con, Violence, You don't need to see the movie to read the fic, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesofshinigami/pseuds/eyesofshinigami
Summary: All that's left of humanity is barreling through a world of ice on a train, where the rich and powerful ride in the front, in relative comfort. The poor and the weak--like Steve, a sickly, weak Alpha--ride in the back, starved and in squalor. The truly unfortunate, like Bucky (the omega he didn't quite manage to make his), never make it on the train at all. But no one ever told Steve that those in the back should back down and take things quietly.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, after a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, here's my offering for the CapRBB! First of all, I would like to send out a massive thank you to the mods for putting this together and making it amazing. Also, thanks to all of the awesome people I've met in the RBB Slack, with their constant encouragement and GSD sessions.
> 
> Special thanks goes out to cobaltmoony, my partner in all of this. Her art inspired the fic, but without her it wouldn't be half of what it was. Between brainstorming, helping me organize my thoughts, beta-ing, and generally cheerleading me when I was lagging, I couldn't ask for a better collaborator. Thank you for making this super rewarding. 
> 
> Also, special shout-outs go to whispersofdelirium, dentigerous, antigrav_vector, and littleblackfox for their advice, lending me their ears, and generally being supportive. I'm grateful for each and every one of you. And thank you to littlelostpieces for the beta, even though this isn't your fandom. You're a peach and I love you. And to iwillpaintasongforlou for help with my summary! Sometimes it truly takes a village. XD
> 
> This is my first foray into writing for Stucky and the Cap fandom, so hope you like it!
> 
> Title taken from _Locking Up the Sun_ by Poets of the Fall.
> 
> Also a quick sidenote: You don't have to see the movie to read this fic! It's more of a fusion than a retelling, so no watching required!

-*- 

Even after years and years of it, Steve still can’t deal with how cold it is. It’s the kind of cold that sinks down into your bones and stays there, a lingering ache you can’t shake. Never mind that their car is never warm, the walls slick with cold wet that leaks in from the outside. It doesn’t matter how many bodies are crammed together in such a small space, none of them can remember what it felt like to be warm.

Which is probably why Steve can’t shake the sickness that’s been plaguing him for what seems like forever now. His lungs rattle when he breathes and the cough is getting worse and worse. He shakes alone in his bunk and his already muted smell is practically non-existent. Some Alpha he turned out to be. 

He presses his too-hot face into the metal wall that his bunk is set into. The vibrations of the wheels on the track skitter across his skin but it’s become almost background noise. 

It’s been ten years since he boarded the train, the train that was supposed to keep them alive when the world froze over. He and Bucky had been caught in the crush of people, racing to get on before the doors closed. The acrid smell of fear and panic stung his nose, his weak heart pounding in his ears as they tried to shove their way through. Their hands had been clasped tight, but Steve’s grip faltered and then Bucky slipped underneath the herd of desperate people and then…

The sound of the door shutting still rings in his ears when he thinks about it. It makes his chest hurt in a way that has nothing to do with the weight of sickness. 

Steve shakes away the ghost of the Omega he lost. All thinking about Bucky is going to do is make him cry, which is going to make his cough worse. After Bucky fell, Steve has no one. He’s made a couple of friends he chats with now and again, when his health is okay, but it’s not the same. No warm body to spoon, no gentle hands to wipe away the sweat from his brow. No one to force-feed him soup and medicine because he’s too stubborn to do it himself. 

“Steve?” 

He squints up at the blurry shape crouching near his bunk. It’s Peggy, holding up a dingy rag and looking down at him with a frown. Her Beta scent is soothing, neutral and familiar. “Hey,” he rasps back, swallowing against the sandpaper in his throat. “Everything okay?”

Her eyes go soft. “Yes, I just came to check on you. You missed the food delivery this morning. It was your turn for bread.” She reaches into her tattered jacket and pulls out a chunk of brown bread, hard but thankfully without mold. “Luckily, the distributor thinks I’m pretty,” she says with a sniff. 

“Thanks, Pegs. Did you give some to the kids?” 

“Yes, Steve. This is what’s left,” she chides, but it’s warm with affection. “You need to eat more if you’re going to get better.”

He waves her off. “There are people who need it more. I’m always sick, remember?” As if on cue, he coughs wetly into his fist. At least there’s no blood this time. 

“That’s no excuse, Steve.” 

He knows she means well, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue. He doesn’t want to tell her that he’s just tired of it all. Being stuck on the train, living in squalor with too many other people. There are children that don’t even know what it’s like to live anywhere else. Life wasn’t always the best outside, before the freeze, but it wasn’t this. 

“I bet the assholes at the front don’t have to worry about being sick,” he mutters as he takes a bite of the bread. It’s like biting into a rock and tastes like dirt in his mouth. He almost can’t swallow it.

She scoffs and shakes her head. “As if we’ll ever know. You need to get that fool idea out of your head, Steve.” 

Steve sighs. It’s not stupid. Maybe if he wasn’t such a failure of an Alpha, he could make the journey up. His instincts tell him to protect and take care of the people here, but his body can’t keep up. Instead, he just lays in bed and shivers underneath his tattered clothes while his belly growls. 

Rage pools in his stomach and he wants to punch something. That’s when he hears the door clang open and Peggy straightens up. He knows who it is even before the too-harsh stench of Alpha hits his nose. He wants to growl, feels it rumble up from his chest, but he’s in no shape for a confrontation today.

“Look lively, scum! Let’s get this over with quickly,” the Alpha barks. It echoes in the small chamber and Steve winces when it hits his good ear. 

Steve tries to get to his feet, but his knees give out before he can make it. Peggy manages to catch him before he hits the slatted floor, not even grunting under his slight weight. “Come on,” he rasps out. Together, they hobble their way towards where Rumlow and his cronies are standing by the open door. All of the occupants of the car are pressed up against the walls, their children ducked behind their parents. If they hide them, maybe they won’t take them away. 

Rumlow glances around the room, lip curling up when he spots Steve and Peggy. “Aww, no fight this time, Rogers? Shame. I was hoping to pay you back for last time.” He drags his thumb along the scar on the side of his face that Steve had given him with a piece of rusty rebar. Just seeing it gives Steve a vicious little thrill. He can’t do much, but keeping Rumlow from putting his hands on the women in the car was at least something. Thankfully, there aren’t any Omegas or...well, it wouldn’t be pretty. 

He growls weakly, edged with the whistle in his lungs from the sickness. It makes Rumlow and his goons laugh, which makes Steve’s blood run hot. 

“Not worth it,” Rumlow spits, stepping to the side. He grabs the nearest child by the hair, a little boy who screams when he pulls him out from behind the boy’s mother. He eyes the child, looking him up and down. “This one will do.” He shoves the child into the hands of one of the men standing behind him. The mother is in tears and rushes to grab the boy back, but Rumlow backhands her before she can get far. Instantly, there are multiple guns pointing in her direction. “I’ll fucking shoot you, and I’d be glad to do it,” Rumlow growls at her, the barest hint of Alpha timbre in his voice. The woman shakes her head and whimpers, cradled by her husband who is shaking just as badly. 

If it’s one thing Steve can’t stand, it’s bullies. Before he can think about it, he’s lunging forward and throwing all ninety pounds of his weight into Rumlow. He knows it’s not going to do anything, but heat pounds behind his eyes and he has to do something. 

It throws Rumlow off-balance, enough to stumble into the guard behind him. Steve lets out a weak cry of victory as he gets one solid punch in against his temple. Pain flares up through his fingers but he swings again anyway, only to have his fist get caught mid-swing. Rumlow laugh as he tightens his own fist, the sickening crunch of bones grinding together echoing through the air. 

“You’re a piece of work, Rogers,” Rumlow says as he squeezes harder. Steve cries out and slumps to the floor, held up by Rumlow’s fist around his own. “You never learn. And you’re so fucking weak.” He tosses Steve to the side, who hits the wall with a thud. Everything hurts and Steve sucks in a breath, setting off another coughing fit. He barely hears the door slam shut over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. 

When he can open his eyes again, Peggy’s hovering over him as well as Sam, who looks less than pleased with him. “If you weren’t laying on the floor, coughing up your lungs, I’d shake some sense into you,” he says, heaving Steve up by the arm. A whimper escapes him, but Sam hoists one of his arms around his shoulders. “Steve...you can’t keep doing this. One day he’s just going to shoot you and be done with it.” 

Steve can’t help the snort that escapes him. “I doubt it, he likes beating me up too much,” he jokes weakly. His throat is on fire and everything hurts; even his hair hurts. 

“That’s not funny, Steve,” Peggy says crisply. “I understand your instincts and all, but-”

“Please,” Steve pleads. He doesn’t need a reminder. His aching back and crushed bones are enough. Thankfully, they drop it for now and Steve is grateful. Right now, all he wants to do is go back to his bunk and sleep for a week. 

But they’re not heading for the bunks. They trudge through the smelly car, Steve’s feet clumsy against the uneven floorboards. There’s too many scents, too many bodies crammed together in such a small space, unwashed and caked with dirt. It makes Steve’s head pound harder. He tucks his nose against Sam’s shoulder, taking a shallow breath. His scent is the same muted soothing Beta smell as Peggy’s, though hers is more crisp, like an underripe pear. Sam makes Steve think of sunny days by the ocean. 

He misses the ocean. He and Bucky were going to go one day, make their way to California and see the Pacific…

No chance of that now. Not with Bucky being gone and the world a vast, frozen wasteland. 

Steve shakes those thoughts out of his head. “Where are we going?” he croaks out. 

“To see Erskine. You need medical attention for your hand,” Peggy says, mouth in a firm line. He goes to argue, but his mouth snaps shut when she levels him with a glare. “He can set the bones. Otherwise they’re going to heal wrong.” 

They make their way to a small, makeshift tent in the corner, farthest away from the door. It smells stringent, like makeshift cleaner and bandages, out of place in the dingy train car. Peggy lifts the flap and calls out, “Doctor? Are you in?” There’s a shuffling noise from inside before a wizened old man emerges. He’s rail thin and his hair is scraggly, and there’s a pair of cracked spectacles perched on the end of his nose. 

“Ah, Steven. I was wondering when you’d come see me,” he says kindly, looking down at Steve through his glasses. 

Steve is confused. He’s never talked to this man before in his life. His scent is muted with age and Steve can’t get a good read on him. But his eyes are soft and remind him of his mother’s, so he doesn’t kick up a fuss. “It’s m’ hand,” he wheezes, holding it up. His fingers rest at odd angles and his pale skin is black with bruises. 

The doctor meets his eyes. “And your lungs. Bring him inside,” he instructs. There’s not a lot of space; just a fold up cot and a rickety table that holds some basic instruments. It looks nothing like the myriad of doctors’ offices Steve practically grew up in. “Sit there.” Steve sits down on the cot, feeling it creak beneath him. “You two can go now. We might be a while.”

Peggy nods and grabs Sam by the sleeve of his shirt, tugging him away before he can protest. Once out of sight, Erskine pulls the flap shut. It’s pitch-black for just a moment, before a weak yellow light fills the space. He takes Steve’s hand, looking at the crushed joints and bruised skin, shaking his head. “That was a brave thing you did. You’re a good man.”

Steve can’t help the bitterness that wells up in him. “I don’t like bullies. And I hate that Rumlow thinks he can do what he likes because he’s an Alpha. It’s not right.” _If only I were stronger. If only I were a real Alpha._ He swallows those words back down into the dark pit they came from, and bites down his whimper when Erskine starts to set the bones. Pain lances through him and he takes in a ragged breath, praying he doesn’t start coughing again. The fever is creeping back on him and it makes his vision swim. 

He could cry, but what good would it do?

Erskine is as gentle as he can be, shifting the bones and placing tongue depressors between his fingers before wrapping them in soft gauze. “No, it’s not. But I believe our situation has made him believe it is. Alphas like him have existed throughout history, but now…” he sighs, taking a moment before continuing to wrap Steve’s fingers. “At any rate, fighting him is probably not the wisest idea.”

“But if I don’t, who will? I may not be much of an Alpha, but I’m still an Alpha.” He doesn’t mention that he’s the only Alpha willing to fight Rumlow. There are a couple of others, but they’re either too sick or too apathetic. Everyone has learned to take care of their own. Everyone except Steve, apparently. He can’t help how he feels. “So, yeah. I’m going to stand up to him even if it means getting beat down.” 

Neither of them speak for a long moment, Steve taking harsh, wheezy breaths and Erskine silently finishing the wrap of his hand. “You’re a good man, Steven,” he repeats, patting Steve’s leg. He turns around and starts rummaging through a tattered bag, leather cracked with age and dry rot. Erskine lets out a hum when he sits back up, holding a small black box with a rusty padlock on it. “Hold this, please,” he says, handing the box to Steve. He pulls a leather cord up from the layers of clothing, wrapped around his thin neck. At the end is a key. 

Steve stares down at the box when Erskine slides the key into the lock, the sound of the mechanism grinding loud in the small space. It clicks, and he opens it to reveal a small bottle filled with a vibrant blue liquid and a syringe. In comparison to the grime and grit of the space around them, the inside of the box is pristine, sterile. It even smells like a hospital. “What-”

“This will help you. It’s what I was working on...before. It was the only thing I was able to save from my lab,” Erskine whispers, motioning for Steve to lean closer. He turns his good ear towards the doctor. “It’s a serum, that will make you stronger and heal faster. But most important, it amplifies what is inside so good becomes great, and...bad becomes worse. Which is why I hid it, so a man like Rumlow could not find it and use it.”

“Then why me?” Steve asks, daring not to hope. Maybe this serum could turn him into a real Alpha, one that could fulfill his instincts. Maybe he could atone for letting Bucky go and help the people he’s come to regard as his own here in this cramped, dirty train car.

Erskine smiles. “You are a good man, Steven. Kind, and compassionate, and strong despite your body’s limitations. It’s only an offer, nothing more. If you say no, I will hide it once more and we will never speak of it again.”

Steve takes a breath and closes his eyes. His body aches, from the fight and the sickness deep in his bones. He listens to the rattle in his lungs and the weak, uneven thump of his heartbeat. His Alpha smell is soft, barely there, and he’s never experienced a full rut before. 

It isn’t hard to make a decision after that. “I’ll do it.”


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Slight body horror, some dysphoria, and masturbation.

-*-

The injection site itches. Erskine warned him not to scratch it, but Steve desperately wants to, especially since it’s starting to spread down his arm. It reminds him a bit of vaccines he’d received as a child, not that they’d done much to bolster his weak immune system. But he’s never had a reaction quite like this before.

With a sigh, he flops back down on his bunk. He’d been stable enough to walk out of Erskine’s tent, Sam and Peggy thankfully too busy elsewhere to continue to hover over him. Right now, he just wants to lay down and clear his head. Lingering anger still simmers under the surface, and his hand throbs painfully where it’s clutched to his chest. He counts his blessings that he’s currently in between spikes in the fever that still wracks his body.

He can admit now, in the quiet of his own space, that going after Rumlow like that had been stupid. Monumentally stupid. Still, that doesn’t change what he’d said to Erskine; somebody has to at least try. Seeing and hearing that poor mother losing her baby triggered something in him, reminds him even now of his own mother and how she must have felt sitting beside his sickbed. He hates how helpless they are, stuffed back at the end of this train they can’t escape from.

Steve closes his eyes. The train is so long. He’s seen the way it winds around the mountains and across the tundra on a continual loop, making the same journey it has since they’d all boarded it years ago. He catches glimpses of the front engine through the chinks in the metal plating that makes up the walls when he bothers to look. Maybe they just don’t know, up there, how bad things are. He could remember seeing the rich, finely-dressed men and women slowly boarding the carriages towards the front, leisurely and sedate. It was nothing like the mad scramble that the lower classes had to make, trying to secure a place before the doors closed and they were left outside.

Thinking about it makes Steve angry all over again. Angry for not being able to hold onto Bucky, for not being Alpha enough to support the two of them and give Bucky the life he’d deserved. Why such a beautiful, virile Omega with a winning smile had chose him, Steve would never know. Hot, bitter tears pool in his eyes and stream down his cheek before he can stop them.

He gingerly turns over and smashes his face into his musty blanket. He takes a deep, rattling breath to try and staunch the flood of emotion welling up in him. Sleep. That’s what he needs. Sleep will make him feel better and he won’t have to think about anything else.

-*-

Everything hurts. Steve jolts awake with a pained moan. His entire body feels like it’s on fire and being turned inside out. His joints feel like they’re twice their normal size and his muscles keep spasming, rippling in a way like he’s overused them. He grits his teeth and tries to stretch, but another shock of pain shoots through his entire body.

“Oh god,” he rasps out, the oxygen he takes in like nails scraping down his throat. His skin is slick with sweat, hot and sensitive where it touches his clothes. He wants to strip, throw off the offending garments that chafe and scratch.

He’s dying. Whatever sickness he has must be finally overcoming him. He had felt better before he’d fallen asleep, but maybe that was one last good stretch before he finally loses the battle his body has been waging on him for years. It won’t be so bad, he thinks. He won’t hurt anymore. He won’t miss Bucky anymore. Hell, maybe they’ll finally be together again in whatever afterlife waits for him.

Steve cries out when his hand throbs and the rush of blood in his ears makes his head pound, harder than it had hours before. There’s a knot in his chest and pain radiates out from it, pulsing through him hard enough to make him muffle a shout in his blanket. His heart rabbits behind his ribcage, he’s afraid it might tear itself out through the bone and muscle. He swallows down another cry; nobody should have to hear him dying.

He bites his lip hard enough to bleed. It’s sticky on his chin, and he jerks when the pain ratchets up to an unbearable level. He ends up flat on his back in his bunk, tendons straining as his arms and legs sprawl out of their own volition. It hurts, hurts so fucking bad that he wishes someone would find him and just put him out of his misery.

A scream rips out of his throat and there’s a sudden chorus of sickening cracks that echo around him, like his joints are all being popped out of place at once. It hurts worse than Rumlow breaking his hand. Steve feels like he’s drowning in agony.

His muscles burn and the same fire licks up his arms and legs, through his chest and up his neck. Why isn’t he scorched, why isn’t he reduced to ash, how can he survive his body burning from the inside out like this…

He pants and writhes on the bed as there are more cracks and pops and pain just keeps shooting through him over and over again. His bones twist and flex under his too-tight skin and he feels like pulled taffy. He screams and cries because he can’t help himself, it’s too much and he can’t take it anymore.

Then, the fire starts to recede, leaving a different kind of ache in his bones. Everything is sore and Steve feels like he’s become nothing but a raw nerve. He takes a deep breath, pained but there’s no rattle in his chest, no wheezing underneath. It’s just a full breath of air. So he takes another. And another. He focuses on the way his lungs expand and contract fully beneath his ribcage. It’s fascinating because he’s never felt that before.

He can hear his pulse in his ears, still fast, but instead of the staccato beat of before it’s a steady thump. Steve lifts a hand and places it on his chest, reveling in the way it feels beneath his palm. He glances down and his eyes widen.

What the _fuck._

He scrambles to sit up, nearly braining himself on the rickety bar of his bunk. The thin light from the dirty lantern above his head hurts his eyes and he sways. Why is his center of gravity so off? His vision swims and he tries to blink it away. When he can focus again, he notices Peggy staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Sam is crouched next to his bunk, a similar look on his face. Behind them, there’s a crowd of people gathered around, their whispers like spikes pounding into his ears.

Both ears. _He can hear out of both ears._ Is he dreaming?

“Sam-” he rasps, shifting to his feet and starts to pitch forward. Sam catches him, just like Peggy had earlier, but this time the other man nearly buckles underneath him. Just that small touch makes Steve hiss, his skin like a live-wire.

“What the hell happened to you, Steve?” Sam asks once they get him righted on his feet.

He’s not sure how to answer. He looks down and lets out a strangled noise.

He’s big. That’s the only way he can describe it. His chest is broad and muscled, the faintest dusting of hair on his chest that certainly wasn’t there before. He hadn’t noticed before but his clothes are tattered where he’d clearly outgrown them, shreds wrapped around his thighs and in strips down to calves. His shoes are thankfully still intact, but the same cannot be said for his shirt. His hands are the same, long thin fingers and wide palms, but his forearms and biceps are nearly the size as his waist had once been. He flexes, the muscles bulging.

“How do you feel?” Peggy asks, touching his chest.

He flinches, the direct touch like a punch to his still tender skin. “Taller,” he replies dumbly. He glances around, seeing the stunned faces of the people he’s lived with for years now. Nobody says anything, parting when Sam starts helping him stumble towards Erskine’s tent again.

That’s when the smells hit him. There’s so many of them and they make his head spin. For the first time, he gets the full extent of the scents of the people around him. Unwashed bodies, sweat and fear, dehydration, and their designations. It nearly knocks him on his ass. He stumbles, nearly bringing Sam down with him. He could smell it before, even with his weak senses, but now it’s like everything is dialed up to eleven.

He yanks off a piece of his shirt still desperately clinging to his shoulder and uses it to cover his nose. Steve lets out a small, wounded noise when he remembers that the shirt had belonged to Bucky, one of the last things he had to still remind him of his best friend.

They manage to make it to to Erskine’s tent, but Peggy doesn’t call out politely to get his attention. Instead, she throws back the flap and demands, “You need to look at Steve.”

Erskine blinks at her then glances up at Steve. His eyes go round behind his glasses. “Good lord, Steven, what happened to you?” he asks, getting to his feet. He circles around Steve, muttering to himself as he goes. “Remarkable. I had no idea this would happen.”

“Excuse me?” Sam interrupts. He holds out a hand to stop Erskine’s pacing. “You didn’t know what would happen?”

“I gave Steven a serum that was supposed to help heal him, make him a bit stronger. It was what I had been working on in my lab before the incident with CW-7 occurred.” He takes a step back and strokes his stubbled chin. “Remarkable,” he repeats.

Peggy and Sam turn identical frowns on Steve, and even at several inches taller than both of them, he has to fight not to squirm. “You really have no sense of self-preservation, do you?” Sam asks. Steve half-expects him to move and just let him drop to the floor. “You get in fight with Alphas bigger than you-”

“Not anymore,” Steve cuts in, but Sam barrels on like he hadn’t heard him.

“You can’t keep your mouth shut to save your life, and you then you let people inject you with strange shit that probably hasn’t been tested before without a second though. I bet you’d jump off a building if Peggy or I didn’t stop you and we weren’t stuck on this godforsaken train!” Sam’s voice has risen considerably in volume, making Steve wince.

This time, it’s Erskine who interrupts. “It was tested, actually. Though, it never worked quite to this extent. I wonder if it has something to do with your Alpha biology?” He adjusts his glasses and sighs. “If only I had any lab equipment,” he says wistfully.

“You’re not helping things, Doctor,” Peggy replies crisply.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Alphas are rare enough as it is, so I didn’t have the ability to test the serum on them. Steven is the first, and only.” He folds his arms behind his back and clicks his tongue. “What’s done is done. In the trials we held at the laboratory, the Betas who had the serum showed marked improvement in strength, endurance, and healing ability. I can only imagine that it reacted somehow with your Alpha hormones. With the two combined…” he trails off and motions towards Steve.

Peggy folds her arms. “And what would we have done if it had made him worse? Or killed him?”

Steve has the good sense not to tell her that he was pretty sure it was going to. Instead, he says, “Well at least now Rumlow can’t beat me up any more. And maybe now I’ll actually stand a chance to make it to the front.”

“Absolutely not, Steve. What if this is temporary?”

“It’s not,” Erskine says, wiping his glasses off on his shirt sleeve. All it does is smudge them more. “The serum alters the body down into the cells, even the very molecules. That being said, this also means there may be side effects.” He looks at Steve over his glasses. His eyes are soft, nearly the same as they were when Erskine first shared the secret of the serum with him. “I am sure you’ll be able to handle anything that comes your way. Just remember what I said; good becomes great, but bad becomes worse.” With that, he disappears back inside the tent.

Steve finally feels like he’s got his feet underneath him and he pulls away from Sam. He’s a little shaky, his muscles not used to being so thick and his center of gravity shifted from being so tall. It feels _good_.

“It’s so good that you’re enjoying yourself so much,” Peggy remarks drily. “But honestly, what if you hadn’t survived that? Why didn’t you ask more questions? Asked what this...serum did. And the doctor said there may be side effects? What then?”

She’s right. He knows she’s right, but at the same time, he doesn’t know how to put into words that he found it hard to think when the offer had been so tempting. “I wasn’t going to live much longer anyway, Peggy,” he says flatly. It’s hard to push them out, stop the words from getting trapped behind his teeth. “I was sick, and not getting better. I could feel it in my lungs.”

“Steve-” Sam starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“I know what it feels like. You don’t know how many times Bucky and my mother sat next to my bedside, praying that it wouldn’t happen this time. That my own body wouldn’t betray me and just give up.” Bucky with his sweet Omega smell, rich and warm like earth that grew good things, would curl up next to him and try to keep him warm, would whisper words into his skin like a secret brand. He could never remember what Bucky said, but hearing his voice was enough to keep his chest rising and falling. “What did I have to lose? Either my body would keep fighting one last time or it would finally just quit.” He looks down at his feet. He’s afraid they’ll see that _he_ had given up, even for just a moment.

Pain ripples up his arm. Steve whips his head up to see Sam rubbing his knuckles. “What was that for?”

“For you being a moron,” Sam deadpanned. “Look, I get it. We’re not...Bucky, but we’re still your friends.” He sighs and his whole face softens a little. “Next time you get some fool idea in your head, talk to one of us.”

Peggy punches him too, for good measure. At least she has the decency not to punch him in the same spot. “Sam’s right.” Her expression drops, her eyes distant for a moment. “You’re not the only one who lost someone, Steve. That’s no excuse to throw the life you still have away.”

The words hit him harder than he expects. Sometimes he forgets that, ashamed as he is to admit it. Sam and Peggy have been here with him since the door slammed shut, since he had to watch Bucky slip under the crowd after his hand gave out and he let go. They hadn’t even exchanged words or names, but Peggy had held him as he cried, as they cried together. Warmth expands behind his ribs and he’s suddenly very grateful for both of them.

“You’re right, you’re right. Now come here since I’m big enough to hold both of you at the same time now,” he jokes, but he’s so pleased when they let him wrap his arms around them both. It’s just like when they used to sandwich him between them. He squeezes them both tight before letting go. “So, Sam, does that mean you’re going to help me get to the front?”

He gets another punch to the arm for his trouble.

-*-

As the day wears on, Steve figures out how to move in his new body. It’s a bit of trial and error, if he’s honest. His steps are heavier and he feels like a stampeding elephant any time he walks anywhere. One of the older Alphas had been kind enough to give him clothes and Steve had started growling without realizing it when the other Alpha’s scent had hit him. The man had backed down and it had taken Steve a moment to get a hold of himself.

That was a first.

He keeps bumping into things, though. The aisles with the bunks are more cramped now and he has a pretty impressive collection of bruises blossoming on his skin. They heal rather quickly, which is a novelty. Before, it could take him weeks to heal a bruise or a black eye. The only thing he can’t seem to shake is the way his skin is starting to itch. He scratches at his stomach where it’s the worst, but nothing seems to alleviate it.

He’s starting to sweat, too. Even with the cold air leaking in through the slats in the floor and where the seals have started to separate on the plates of the walls, it still gets hot at times with all the bodies crammed in such a small space. Maybe it’s because of the serum, but Steve feels like his entire body is on fire. Less like the blaze during the transformation, but more like coals left to smolder after being stoked. His clothes are sticky with perspiration and he must smell more than usual because people are doing well to stay out of his way.

He’s about to go and ask Erskine, when it rolls over him like a wave. Heat crawls up his spine and unfurls down his arms and legs, centered in his belly. He gasps and he looks down, seeing the way his pants are starting to tent out, just a little. The base of his cock is starting to throb and it hits him.

Holy fuck, he’s going into _rut_. How could he be so stupid? Granted, he has had no idea before today what going into rut feels like, but now the growling and scenting and itch under his skin makes sense.

Steve bangs his way down towards his bunk, feeling like he might burn up from the inside out again. It doesn’t hurt, just licks like fire across his skin. His cock is throbbing steadily now and his clothes rub against him in a way that almost hurts. He makes sure not to bump into anyone, not wanting anyone to feel the erection he’s sporting.

By the time he makes it to his bed, he scrambles up and tries to close the ratty curtain that he hung over the rail of the bunk above his. He knows there’s no real privacy, but at least he can pretend. The button on his pants almost pops off in his desperate need to get them off, leaving them bunched around his thighs.

Steve stares. His cock was decently sized before, even as weak as his Alpha hormones had been, but now it was...well. It’s thicker, longer, flushed at the tip and dripping slick onto his belly. The beginnings of a knot bulge against his skin at the base, along with the fading remnants of marks from where the skin had stretched. A moment of dysphoria hits him; this can’t be his. His cock has never looked like this, no matter how much he wanted it to. That’s when he wraps his hand around it and strokes.

The first touch is positively electric. He bites back a gasp at the way his cock flexes in his fist, the shiver that runs through him when he wraps it around the heft of his knot. It brings him back to himself. He could only imagine what it would feel like for someone else to touch him like this.

Before he can stop it, his mind immediately goes to Bucky. His belly churns, guilt and arousal warring in his guts when he lets himself remember the last time they’d spent Bucky’s heat together.

_“Steve, Steve, please, fuck, make me come,” Bucky pleads, rolling his hips harder against Steve’s fingers. He’s three deep and steadily thrusting, trying to give his Omega what he wants. Slick dribbles down his wrist and Steve ducks down to lick it away. The flavor bursts across his tongue, tangy and fresh._

_He hates that he can’t give Bucky what he wants, what he’s begging for. No matter how absolutely delicious Bucky smells, Steve is still recovering from pneumonia and his body won’t cooperate. There’s the faintest stirring of arousal, but his cock is still soft between his legs._

_But that doesn’t matter. Bucky insisted that it’s fine, so Steve is just going to have to work harder to make him come, to make his heat burn out that much faster. “I’ve got you, don’t worry, I’ll make you come,” he croons, adding a fourth finger. The noise Bucky lets out hits him right in the gut and his cock gives a feeble twitch. There’s nothing better than watching his Omega, his Bucky writhe around in the sheets like this. Like Steve was the only thing in the whole world that could quench the fire in his body._

_He reaches underneath and wraps his other hand around Bucky’s cock, hot to the touch and so hard. He strokes him in time with the thrust of his fingers, pulling more sweet noises out of Bucky. He wants to lean up, kiss him so deep that he could swallow them down._

_“Steve, Steve, STEVE,” Bucky shouts as his body clenches tight around Steve’s fingers and his cock throbs, shoot up and across his chest and belly. He gasps and Steve keeps fucking him through the aftershocks, smiling down at him. “That was so good,” Bucky slurs, grabbing at Steve._

_Of course Steve goes, uncaring of the mess between them. He loves the way they smell together, how ripe and sweet Bucky is when he noses against his bonding gland. He itches to bite, to seal their burgeoning bond once and for all, but he wants to wait until he’s healthy enough to knot Bucky properly._

_He sighs, burying his nose in the join of Bucky’s neck and shoulder. As long as Bucky is satisfied, that’s what matters. He lets himself slip off to sleep, matching his breaths to his Omega’s own, deep in sleep. Bucky’s going to need him soon and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to fuck him properly this time._

Steve jolts himself out of the memory when he cries out, knot throbbing in his fist. His cock is almost purple, the head flared and plummy red. He needs to come, but he can’t seem to make himself. All he wants to think about is Bucky, the way he tasted and the way he smelled, honey sweet and homey when he was in heat.

It makes him ache. He misses Bucky so damn much. Even in his sex-addled brain, he knows it’s more than wanting to sink his cock into Bucky. It’s the closeness, the noises Bucky made, the way they’d cuddle after even if they were sticky and desperately needed showers. It’s the way they smelled together, the life they had started to build before the world went to shit and froze over.

He’s not proud of the way he whimpers, biting back a sob as he strokes his cock. The fire is still burning under his skin and his cock is hot and tender to the touch. Even as pleasure dances across every nerve-ending, it feels wrong. It’s wrong to imagine that it’s Bucky’s hand wrapped around his knot as he fucks his fist. Or Bucky’s mouth, licking along the length of his cock as he tries to keep his hips still. He even imagines what it would feel like now to have Bucky spread out beneath him, cock buried in his body, covered in slick as he fucked deep into him.

Before he can think better of it, his unoccupied hands snakes beneath his pillow to pull out the fraying remains of a scarf. Once it was bright blue, now faded with age and lack of care. It’s the same scarf that Bucky had wrapped around Steve’s neck before they’d left for the train station.

Not pausing in his strokes, Steve presses the scarf against his nose and inhales. It’s pathetic, he knows, but the faintest hint of Bucky’s scent clings to the wool, lighting up his insides like fireworks. He moans, the sound muffled, and his cock throbs in his fist. The smell sends lighting rocketing down his spine where it settles low in his belly. He keeps the scarf tight against his nose, desperate to keep breathing in that treasured scent.

His strokes get faster, the sticky head of his cock sliding over his fingers as he frantically fucks his fist, pretending that it’s Bucky he’s buried inside. He’s panting, loud in the small space, and his orgasm starts to coil deep down in his belly. His cock throbs and his knot bulges out against his fingers. He squeezes tight and the feeling makes him growl, just as he begins to come. Hot stripes paint his chest and belly, feeling like it might never stop. His hips buck up as he rides the last waves of orgasm and he collapses, sticky and chest heaving.

Awareness comes back to Steve in fits and starts. That’s probably the hardest he’s come in his entire life and it takes him a while to recover. He’s a sticky mess and he can smell the stink of rut still clinging to him. The fire in his belly has dulled to a low simmer, at least for now. If he is remembering correctly, this is just the beginning.

Steve sighs. He’s in for a long night. He doesn’t even bother to wipe himself off; he’s just going to get messier by the time this is done. Already he can feel the same itch beginning, the way his nipples pull tight under his rucked-up shirt. He lets out an annoyed growl and lets his head thump back against his pillow, closing his eyes.


	3. Part III

-*-

By the time his rut is finally over, Steve has no idea how much time he’s lost. His stomach growls and he feels like he could sleep for a year. It’s probably a good thing he’d never had a proper rut when he was smaller. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to survive.

After he tucks Bucky’s scarf back under his pillow and managed to clean himself up with the corner of his blanket, he pulls the curtain back and climbs out of his bunk. The bunks surrounding his are empty, which makes him wince a little. He didn’t mean to run people out of what are essentially their own homes, but he’s also thankful for the fleeting bit of privacy it affords him. It’s not the first time an Alpha has gone into rut in the car, but it still makes Steve’s face flush a little at the thought that people _know_ that he went into rut.

He’s not surprised when he finds Sam and Peggy sitting down near the front of the car, talking quietly and eating. He must have just missed the food delivery by minutes. “Hey,” he greets as he sits down with a heavy sound.

Peggy passes him a bowl. It’s a thin soup, if you could call water with one or two rotting vegetable chunks in it soup. “I figured you would be hungry. This is what we’ve gotten for the past two or three days, while you were...indisposed.”

Two or three days of this? No wonder everyone looked more gaunt than usual. “Thanks,” he manages. Despite how flavorless it is, Steve gulps it down in two swallows. His belly keeps growling after he’s finished, but he’s gotten used to the way it feels to have an empty pit in his stomach. It just feels...more, now. Peggy and Sam are both watching him with morbid fascination, but Steve just shrugs. “Did I miss anything else?”

“Another little girl was taken to the front,” Peggy replies sadly. She swishes the liquid around in her bowl before taking another sip. “I don’t know if I can watch another mother cry herself to sleep, Steve.”

Anger burns in Steve’s belly. “I’m beginning to think Rumlow is just doing it to be an asshole. What else could they possibly need kids that young for?” His protective instincts flare at the thought of someone hurting pups.

“Nothing good, I’m sure,” Sam chimes in, handing his half-finished bowl to Steve. “Here. I can’t eat any more and I’m afraid your stomach is going to leap out and eat one of us if I don’t.”

“Probably one of those side effects Erskine mentioned,” Steve says absently. He drinks it down more slowly this time. When he’s finished, he sighs. “We need to make a plan to get to the front. I just...there’s no way Pierce can know what’s going on back here.”

Sam snorts and folds his arms. “Or he does and doesn’t care. He’s just another rich asshole, Steve. You’ve heard Sitwell when he comes back here, preaching his gospel.”

Steve doesn’t want to believe that. It’s foolish, he knows, but the alternative is much harder to swallow down.

“Sam’s probably right. Men like Pierce think nothing of the suffering of others. Otherwise, people like Rumlow and Sitwell wouldn’t have the jobs they do.”

“I’m not saying that I’m putting all my faith in Pierce, but we can’t just keep not doing anything any more. How many more children are going to have to disappear before we act? You said it yourself, Peggy, you’re tired of listening to mothers cry themselves to sleep.” Steve bangs his empty bowl against the floor. “How many more people are going to have to starve to death before we do something about it?”

Peggy folds her arms, brows furrowing together. “And I’m sure you think you’re the person to do that? Just waltz right up there and give him a piece of your mind because you’re a big strong Alpha now?”

“No,” Steve answers simply, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t believe in the idea of a chosen one, or that Alphas are better than Betas or Omegas, or that people like Rumlow and Pierce are better than anybody else. I do believe that we can do something to change things around here if we work together, because this? This isn’t working.” He motions towards the rest of the car. “I’m grateful that Erskine saved me and made me like...this,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Now I’m finally strong enough to do something about it. I can make a real difference. So, how can you expect me to sit back and do nothing?” _Maybe I can finally make up for the fact that I let Bucky down. Make him proud of me, for once_ is what he doesn’t say.

“And what will you do if Pierce doesn’t cooperate? Is your plan to just kill him?” Peggy challenges.

“I will if I have to,” Steve says gravely.

Peggy stares at him for a long, long moment, enough to make him start to fidget. Finally, she sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re such a stubborn fool,” she says, but the small smile she gives him is fond.

“Did you write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?” Sam teases, nudging Steve in his side. He pretends to fall over when Steve shoves him back. “ Before you ask, yes, I’m coming with you. Or else who’s gonna be there to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”

Warmth fills Steve’s chest. He’s so grateful to have both of them here. Now, though, it’s time to focus. “Okay, so we need to figure out a way to block the doors, keep them open. I’m sure behind that first gate are where they keep the keys and codes to the doors to the other cars.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Any ideas?”

“There’s not just one door to get through, Steve. There’s three.” He looks at Peggy, who’s tapping her finger against her chin. His question must show on his face because she huffs out a breath. “Haven’t you ever watched when they come in to do the head counts? Or deliver food?” She leans down and traces her finger through the dirt on the floor, the markings a crude map. “The soldiers come in through this door,” she explains, pointing to the first box. “I’ve watched while they bustle around inside the car there. There’s two more doors behind it. It’ll be about timing.”

Sam points to the second box. “If it’s just the two of us, we’re going to have to be smart about this. They have stun batons, and most of the guards are Alphas. I know you’re all hyped up on serum juice, but I can’t take on a crowd of Alphas on my own.”

“Who says it’s just going to be the two of you?” Peggy demands, glaring hard at the both of them. “If you think for one minute I’m just going to let the both of you dash off-”

“Peggy,” Steve interrupts gently, taking her hand. “It’s not like that. But this is going to cause a lot of chaos and we need someone to stay back here and protect the rest of the people. I don’t trust anyone else but you, okay? You’re the most capable woman I know, which is why I want you here. Sam’s going to come with me and we’ll need you to keep our people safe.”

She wants to argue, he can see it in her eyes. It’s one of his favorite things about Peggy, the depth of her passion and her capability. In another life, he thinks he could have loved her. Instead, he just tries to convey the amount of respect and trust he has for her and her spirit. If something happens to him, he knows he can count on her. Her eyes flit across his face searchingly, and finally she nods. “All right. I understand.”

Another beat passes before he lets her go and the three of them hunch over their makeshift plans. “Do you think we could use the old drums in the back to make a battering ram?”

Peggy’s eyes light up. “Steve, that’s brilliant! We could string them together, somehow. If we can get the the first door propped open, you can make your way to the next one without any issue.”

“Okay, but how will we move them? Handles? Roll them? Because they’re not just going to slide across the metal floor without something to grease them up, you know,” Sam adds reasonably.

Before Steve can reply, the door clangs open and he hears Rumlow yell out, “All right scum, head count!”

The three of them look at each other. It’s too soon. They haven’t had a chance to plan anything out. “Do we act now? What do we do?” Peggy hisses between her teeth as they all get to their feet. The clicking of the counter echoes after the soldier holding it calls out counts.

“Not yet,” Steve whispers back.

“You! Sit down!” the soldier calls. Sam and Peggy sit down, but Steve stays standing. Just like he’s done countless times before.

Rumlow squints from the front and then takes a step towards the crowd of people sitting down on the floor. Some of them scoot out of the way, making room. “Who the fuck are you?” he growls.

Steve blinks back. What does Rumlow mean? He’s...oh. It hits him then; this is the first time the soldiers have seen him since the change. This close, and with his improved sense, Rumlow’s scent fills his nostrils. As oppressive as it was before, now it’s overwhelming and disgusting. It’s acrid and sour, a challenge. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “What, don’t recognize me, Rumlow?” he says with a smirk. He rolls his shoulders and starts at Rumlow head on.

A myriad of expressions cross Rumlow’s face, finally settling on a snarl. “Rogers? What the fuck happened to you? You finally hit puberty or something?”

He knows he’s being antagonized. He knows that he should just sit down and let this go, but Rumlow is a bully and finally, Steve can do something about it. He doesn’t answer, instead just stepping forward. The crowd parts for him. The tension in the room ratchets up and Steve feels it skitter across his skin.

“Stay the fuck back, Rogers. You don’t want me to break your hand again, do you?”

Steve flexes the hand in question. The serum had fixed the bones, the bruising long gone. He still doesn’t speak, has no reason to. The scent is stronger the closer he gets, raising his hackles and he traps a growl behind his teeth. “There’s no reason for this. You need to stop,” Steve tries.

Rumlow barks out a laugh. “Stop what? Treating you like the scum you are? You’re tail end trash, Rogers. Ain’t no reason for me to treat you any different.” He doesn’t give Steve a chance to answer before he swings. But Steve is familiar with this song and dance now. He blocks the punch with his forearm, swings out with his other. It cracks Rumlow right in the jaw.

For the span of a heartbeat, everything seems to stop. Nobody moves. Nobody even seems to breathe. Then, it’s like time speeds back up and Steve hears Rumlow let out a growl. Rumlow charges, trying to tackle him to the ground. Steve’s balance is still a little shaky. The two of them fall to the ground as Rumlow starts punching at him. He does his best to dodge, but a couple of the punches land. The surge of Alpha hormones in his blood sends him throwing Rumlow off of him.

He can barely hear the sounds of the chaos set off behind him over the sound of blood roaring his ears. He lunges at Rumlow. He’s intent on pinning him to the ground, but Rumlow sidesteps him and they crash together. Fists are flying and growls fill the air. Another punch lands in his gut, just as he swings off and cracks Rumlow across the cheekbone. Soldiers are yelling for people to get back. There are frantic footsteps ringing out against the metal floor. Blood trickles from his nose and he can see where Rumlow’s eye is swelling shut already.

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

Everything screeches to a halt. One of the Beta soldiers cradles his gun to his chest, eyes wide as saucers. “I didn’t...I just…” he stammers.

“You idiot! Don’t waste bullets like that!” Rumlow growls as he motions for the soldiers to move out. They start heading towards the door.

Steve’s heart pounds as he turns around to see. Cold dread fills his his stomach when he turns to see Peggy cradling Erskine in her lap. Blood gathers in the corner of his mouth and there’s a brilliant red stain spreading across his stomach. “Steven,” Erskine rasps out and Steve’s vision goes white.

He lets out a roar and surges forward, knocking soldiers to the ground to make way. Grabbing the door and the frame, he wrenches the gate open, muscles bulging from the strain. There’s a loud pop and the smell of smoke as the mechanism gives way. He grabs one of the other soldiers that has fallen behind and slams his head into the wall, just enough to knock him out. He glances up, just long enough to see Rumlow and the rest of the team disappear behind the door in front of him.

“Steve! Stop!” Sam calls out, grabbing Steve around the shoulders. “Steve, I’m going to need you to calm down and take a deep breath.” He pushes closer and wraps his arms around Steve as best he can. “I know, I know you’re angry, I am too, but I need you to calm down.”

He could throw Sam off. It’d be really easy; Sam’s Beta strength no match for his own. He doesn’t, though. Instead, Steve takes a deep breath. Then another. Then another. In through his nose and out through his mouth, just like Bucky used to coach him when he had asthma attacks. In, out. In, out.

It takes a few minutes, but Steve gets himself under control. His head falls back against Sam. “Is he…” he trails off, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Sam answers gravely.

The two of them get to their feet and Sam pats him on the shoulder one last time before stepping back to give him some space. Steve takes another deep breath before they walk back towards where Peggy is standing, waiting for them. She’s got one of the soldier's guns clutched in her hands, so tight her fingers are white.

He can’t look down. He doesn’t want to see yet another person who died because of him. The guilt wells up in his throat and he feels like he’s choking on it.

“It’s not your fault,” Peggy says, like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s theirs. Please.” Her eyes are shiny with tears but none of them fall. She stands tall, unmovable and giant in the way she holds herself. “You should go. Before they come back with reinforcements.”

Steve makes himself look down to where Erskine is on the floor. His arms are crossed and his eyes are closed. He’d look peaceful except for the blood on his clothes, turning a deep shade of rust. Peggy’s right. He wipes his hand across his face before walking towards the door. Sam is there and together they cross back over the threshold of the gate.

On the way, he picks up the unconscious soldier and drags him behind them. Before pressing his hand to the pad by the door, Sam asks, “Are you sure?”

Steve sighs and pushes the hand against the reader, listening as the locking mechanism whirs and clicks. “No, but here we go anyway.”

-*-

Steve is glad he had the foresight to check the guard while he was still unconscious. His search yields a stun baton, a rifle, and a set of shiny keys. He hands the rifle and baton to Sam. “Don’t use the gun unless you have to. Save the bullets.” They head into the the next car, not sure what they’re going to find.

The car is cool and smells a bit musty. It’s quiet, almost unnervingly so.

“What is this place?” Sam asks, voice pitched low.

It’s similar to how their car is set up, but instead of bunks, the walls are lined with handles on either side. Each handle is set in a square of metal and there’s a small copper label on the outside.

“Steve...are these bodies?”

Steve shakes his head and points to one in front of him. “I don’t think so, look at this.” He uses his hand to wipe away some of the dust that’s accumulated. “There’s no dates. There are just names and what look like...job titles?.’”

“If that’s the case, maybe we could find someone who could help us,” Sam suggests. He holds up the keys he’d pilfered from one of the guards and jingles them, the sound echoing in the empty car. “Let’s take a look.”

They split up and start moving around the car, using the flickering light fixture overhead to read the different names on the boxes. Steve is pleased to note that even in the weak light he doesn’t have to strain his eyes to read. He keeps reading until he finds out about halfway down the middle of the wall, gesturing towards Sam. “I think I found one! Look,” he says, pointing towards the box. “It says, ‘Natasha Romanov. Security expert.’”

“Chance are she’ll know how to get through the doors. Hopefully she’ll be happy to see us,” Sam notes. He pulls the keys back out of his pocket and starts methodically trying to fit them in the lock. It takes a bit, but finally the lock opens with a decided _click._

Steve nods and Sam steps back, enough to where Steve can pull out the heavy drawer. He grunts at the exertion and the drawer opens with a loud hissing noise, the barest wisps of steam pouring out. Inside, a woman lays curled up on her side, red hair spilling across her arms. She looks peaceful, like she’s sleeping. Her scent is muted, but Steve can catch the spicy hint of Alpha in it. Huh.

“How do we wake her up?” Sam whispers, edging towards the slab. “This is probably-WOAH”

As he’s speaking, the woman startles awake and she sits up, fists raised and already darting out. Her punch narrowly misses catching Steve in the cheek. She lets out a low growl and keeps swinging at him. “Fuck you!” she snarls out. Steve’s not ashamed to admit that the sound raises the hair on the back of his neck.

“Hey, woah,” he tries, but she doesn’t relent. He tries to reach out for her, but she’s quick, with lithe grace that he’s almost envious of. “Please, I just want to talk!”

She stops short. “Talk?” she replies. Her voice carries just the barest hint of an accent. “You didn’t want to talk when you locked me in a metal box.” He half expects her to lunge at him again. “Wait. I don’t recognize you. Who are you?”

Steve bites back a sigh. “We’re from the tail section. We need you to help us get to the engine,” he explains, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. “Your...label says ‘security expert’. I thought you could help us.”

Her eyes narrow and she meets his gaze without flinching, searching. “Why do you want to go to the front?” she asks, voice deceptively calm. Her entire body is still, eerily so. Steve’s reminded of a snake coiled and ready to strike.

“Have you ever been to the tail section?” Steve asks instead of answering her question. At the shake of her head, he continues, “It’s pretty awful. People are starving and dying of sickness. And our children keep disappearing. We’re going to the front to see if we can work on fixing that.”

“Oh yeah? You really think that’s going to help?” she says with a snort.

Steve’s brows furrow and anger stirs in his belly. His instincts tell him to challenge this uppity Alpha, show her that he’s stronger, faster, but he takes a deep breath. They don’t have time for this and he knows it won’t fix anything anyway. “Are you willing to help us or not?”

She taps her finger against her chin. “What’s in it for me if I help you?”

“What do you want?” Steve counters.

“Come on, Steve, she clearly isn’t going to help. Let’s keep moving before Rumlow and his cronies show back up,” Sam urges, grabbing his arm.

“Rumlow?” she hisses, scent rising. It’s cloying and angry, and again Steve has to fight down the urge to snarl back at her. It’s not directed at him. “I didn’t know if that fucker was still around. I’ll tell you what, _Alpha,_ ," she mocks, folding her arms across her chest. “You let me have Rumlow, and I’ll take you all the way to the engine. I helped develop the security system for the train, I know them inside and out. Do we have a deal?”

“What do you have against Rumlow?” Steve questions.

She clicks her tongue and smiles, but it’s sharp at the edges. “Who do you think locked me in the box? He didn’t like being questioned, so in I went,” she replies flippantly. She could be talking about the weather, as casual as she sounded. “Why?”

Sam holds his hands up in front of him. “Hey, Rumlow’s no friend of ours, especially Steve here. The dude’s an asshole and he’s part of the problem.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She looks Steve up and down again, the corner of her mouth tilted up. “Steve, huh? You must be that scrawny little Alpha that he always complained about. Though, not so scrawny anymore, are you?” she purrs. It makes Steve squirm a little, and her mouth tilts up further at that. “So, do we have a deal?”

They don’t have any other options, Steve knows. He also doesn’t want to be the one to try and put her back where they found her; he’s not even sure they _could_. “Deal. And you are?” He thrusts his hand out at her.

She looks a bit surprised at that, eyes widening a fraction before settling back into a look of coy boredom. “And what manners. Natasha,” she replies, hopping off the table without taking his hand. Steve tries not to be offended. She saunters over to a grated panel in the floor and crouches down before ripping it up. It reveals a mess of wires and circuits that fizzle and pop when she pulls them up. With a few clever twists and cuts, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam says with a low whistle.

Natasha shoots him a flirty smile and waves her hand. “Easy as pie, boys. Shall we?”

-*-

The next car is empty. A few of the bunks look like they’ve disturbed recently and there’s food still sitting on the table, but there are no people. It’s eerie. “Where is everyone?” Steve asks, lifting a blanket on one of the beds.

“Looks like they left in a hurry,” Sam notes, kicking out at an overturned chair. He eventually rights it and sets it back under the table. “Soldier’s barracks, maybe?”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but Natasha says, “Search the area. See if you can find anything to use as a weapon beside the gun and that useless stun baton,” she says, nodding towards the items Sam’s still holding on to. “The STRIKE team uses this to sleep and store their extra equipment.”

“STRIKE team?” Steve asks even as he’s rifling through drawers and cubbies attached to the bunks.

“What the soldiers call themselves. Or, rather, what Pierce calls them.”

“Of course they would,” Sam mutters. “Hey, are these windows?”

There’s a mechanical whirr and blinding, bright light fills the car. Sunlight, the same sunlight they haven’t seen in so many years. Steve covers his eyes from the eye-searing white that fills his vision. It takes him a few moments to get his bearings back, blinking and moving closer. Once black spots stop dancing in front of him, he chances a look out of the window nearest to him.

Snow. The same snow he’s caught peeks of through the cracks in the metal walls, but seeing it like this is terrifying. A blanket of white stretches as far as the eye can see and it hits him just how vast and empty everything is. Mountains jut up in the distance, slivers of gray between the vast expanse of nothingness. His hand hits the glass and he has to take a deep breath to steady himself. It’s one thing to know that you’re trapped in a giant tundra of snow and ice, but seeing it makes his legs shake a little.

“It’s just…” Sam starts to say, but trails off. His hand is pressed against the glass as well, solemn face reflected in its surface.

Natasha doesn’t say anything. She’s staring out with her arms close to her side, fists clenched. After a moment, she shakes her head a little. “Come on, we need to keep searching.”

It’s easier to look with so much light pouring in through the open windows. Steve kicks open a locker against the other wall and pulls out a round metal disc. A shield, judging by the leather handles welded onto the side. It’s heavy, but the heft of it against his arm feels good. He swings it around a couple of times and already it feels like an extension of his own limb.

_Clang!_

The sudden sound ringing out stuns Steve for a moment. It takes him longer than it should to realize that Natasha struck the shield with a club of some kind. “Gotcha,” she says, her eyes dancing a little.

“Damn,” Sam repeats, holding a club of his own. “Granted, you were swinging that thing around like a child’s toy. Only you would get attached to a metal frisbee.”

“It’s not a frisbee,” Steve argues, though he can privately admit he considered the mechanics of that for just a minute or two.

“Shut up,” Natasha cuts in, motioning them towards the door.

As Steve steps closer, the scent of copper and iron gets in his nose. It makes his eyes water a little. It’s mostly fresh, but there’s the barest hint of sweetness, like something just on the verge of beginning to rot. It reminds him of the butcher shop down the street from he and Bucky’s apartment in the city. “Blood,” he whispers.

“No kidding,” Natasha mocks, but her face is serious. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She turns to look at him. “They’re probably waiting on the other side, you know.” Then, she glances back towards where Sam is standing, clutching his club to his chest.

Sam takes a deep breath and nods. “What other choice do we have?”

Steve adjusts the shield in a better grip and squares his shoulders. “We don’t.”


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and brief descriptions of blood and gore.

-*- 

Natasha fiddles with the panel, crossing wires and sending sparks shooting in the air. The door opens with a whooshing sound. The copper scent of old blood overpowering. Tables line the walls, stained rust red. A butchery, perhaps, judging by the smell - Nat was right. Inside the car is a sea of black-clad figures. All of them are clutching various weapons, axes and bats, but no guns. Rumlow stands in the middle of the crowd. His arms are crossed and his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt.

“I see you’re making new friends, Rogers,” he says, lip curling up. “Romanov. Glad to be out of that box, I bet.”

Natasha doesn’t react. Her entire body is tense and her scent spikes with anger, but her expression stays blank. “No thanks to you,” she quips. Their eyes lock and the tension in the air notches up a few degrees. “I don’t suppose you’re just going to let us pass, are you?”

Rumlow sneers. “Smart girl,” he sneers. “You know, you three need to be reminded about your place on the train. You two,” he motions towards Sam and Steve, their dirty clothes and smudged faces, “belong at the ass end, like the dirtbags you are. And you,” he says, pointing at Natasha, “belong back in your box.”

“You’re wrong,” Steve grits out. He rolls his shoulders and lowers into a stance that mirrors Natasha’s. He figures she knows what’s she’s doing. Following her lead might be the smartest idea.

The air crackles around them. The smells of aggressive Alphas and angry Betas swirl together in a cloying cloud, filling the entire train car. Steve bares his teeth, knows the scent of action.

It happens so fast Steve barely has time to think. Footsteps His fist connects with a solid thump. The man he hits crashes into the wall. He swings again, with the shield this time. Another soldier goes flying and lands with a sickening sound.

“Steve! On your back!” Natasha calls and Steve spins around. A woman attacks him with an axe and Steve dodges. The clang rings out when it connects with his shield and Steve feels it in his hand. He swipes up and cracks her in the chin, blood spraying across the window.

He nods to Natasha and then spins to elbow another soldier in the face. He staggers back and Natasha steps into his face, kicking up the club the man dropped and throwing it expertly. It pegs another enemy in the face, giving Sam the opportunity to slash at him with an axe.

Steve loses time. His heartbeat roars in his ears and he’s sticky with blood. He’s not sure if it’s his or not. His knuckles throb and his muscles ache, but he keeps going. The wall of soldiers seems to be endless and Steve’s lost count of how many hits he’s taken or landed. He calls out to Sam and Natasha and the three of them converge, preparing for another assault. They orbit around one another in a whirlwind of punches and kicks, swings of axes and clubs.

Things screech to a halt when the gate on the other end opens. Footsteps echo and Steve counts his breaths in his head. From behind the those still standing, Minister Sitwell, a small bald man wearing a crisp suit, rises above them on some sort of platform. The same man who dictates to them when and what they can eat. Who insults them and belittles the people in the tail section every time Rumlow doles out a beating or takes a child. It’s fitting he appears now He adjusts his glasses before speaking.

“You three are causing _quite_ a stir,” Sitwell’s voice carries through the train car, reedy and nasal, “-and Mr. Pierce does not take well to such abhorrent behavior. Order will be maintained, for without order we will not survive. So it is.” He turns to look behind him and Steve catches a phrase that he’s never heard him say before.

“Go get him.”

A man that Steve has never seen before parts the crowd. He moves like a predator, lithe grace and silent footsteps. He’s wearing worn black leather, a black mask covering his nose and mouth. His blue eyes are flat and expressionless, sunken in his pale face. A long knife is clutched in his hand, but Steve is staring at his other arm.  
His _metal_ left arm.

Next to him, Natasha sucks in a breath, the first real indication of emotion he’s gotten from her since they freed her. Something about the noise sets Steve’s teeth on edge

The train car is so quiet that when the masked man flexes his fingers, Steve can hear his arm whir and click softly. The masked man doesn’t speak, instead, he lunges for Steve. He strikes with his left fist, fast and punishing. He’s had more training than Steve has, and Steve finds himself getting pushed back, even with his size and Alpha strength. The metal fist catches him in the jaw and stars dance across Steve’s eyes. Blood fills his mouth. He barely manages to regain his balance to dodge the next blow.

It’s brutal. The man holds nothing back. His speed seems inhuman as he turns from slashing with his knife to a punch, a kick, another stab with the blade. Each strike and blow hits Steve with surprising force. He does his best to attack, to the enemy on the defensive, but the man seems unaffected when Steve lands a punch. Steve manages to push him back with the shield and the other man narrows his eyes at the unusual weapon.

He dashes forward and rams into Steve, but Steve has his stance set, ready for him. They grapple and Steve spins, catching the man in the solar plexus with his elbow. He grunts, but the blow isn’t enough to stop him. He flies at Steve with the knife now. Steve blocks with the shield, knocking the weapon out of his flesh hand.

“Enough! Finish it!” Sitwell cries out. But the man doesn’t move. They’re both standing stock-still, across from one another. He’s staring at Steve, eyes still narrowed as they flit across Steve’s face, down his body. In the pause, Steve tries to catch a scent, that would reveal the man’s designation.

There’s nothing. Not even the neutral scent of Beta. There’s a faint chemical tang to his smell that makes Steve’s nose wrinkle.

“Soldier! Kill him!”

This time, the man grabs an axe from the floor. He swings, but Steve’s quicker. Throwing his weight behind the shield, he knocks the axe out of the man’s hand. He lets out a hiss and he lashes out with the metal fist. The punch lands on Steve’s side and the crack is audible. He gasps and staggers back, eyes wide, watching the masked man from behind his shield.

The man cocks his fist to swing again, but Sitwell squeaks out, “Soldier! Let’s go!” He’s on his knees, cowering behind his stand as Natasha swings off at another soldier in his direction. His face is pale and there’s blood spattered against his cheek. Steve’s not sure it’s his.

With one last look, the soldier uses his boot to kick the knife back up into his hand. He knocks one of the other soldiers out of his way and gets to the door. Sitwell gets ready to climb down from his perch, about to disappear again. Rumlow is right behind him.

Steve narrows his eyes. _Not this time._ Pain rockets through him as he throws the shield like a discus at the control box on the side of the door and it lands with a crunch. Sparks fly and the door slams shut, just after the Soldier had disappeared through it. It’s a second too late, though, Rumlow, the masked man and Sitwell manage to escape just before the door slams shut.

The fight rages on. Steve’s ribs are screaming at him from the force of the throw. Another enemy punches him and Steve knocks him back with his other arm. Natasha and Sam are on opposite sides of the car, trading blows with the remaining soldiers still standing. It’s quick work and finally, it’s finished.

Steve’s chest heaves. He looks around and surveys the damage. Bodies are strewn about the floor, smudged with blood and flopped over like broken dolls. Sam is huddled near the wall, teeth gritted and still clutching his arm. There’s blood dripping from his nose.

Steve swallows and limps over to him. “Sam? What happened?”

“I’m okay, Steve, damn,” Sam slurs. He blinks up at Steve and lets out a cough. “Just got knocked around a bit. My arm’s the worst, I think.” He cradle it close to his chest and Steve can see it’s bent at a funny angle. 

“You can go back,” Steve says gently.

Sam glares at him. “No. I’m not leaving you to do this alone. I just need to wrap it up, that’s all. This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt in a fight.”

Sam’s mentioned bits of his past once or twice, but Steve’s never pushed any further. Steve wants to argue with him, but he also knows what it’s like to want to keep your pride intact. 

“Alright.”

He looks over to where Natasha is leaned up against the wall. Her right eye is bruised and her lip is split. She’s clutching her side, but seems whole otherwise. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes round for a second, but then her expression shifts into something more neutral. “Yes,” she answers simply. After a beat, she adds, “Thanks for asking.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with that. He looks around and takes count of the bodies.

“What do we do with them?” he asks.

Now that he’s stopped, the full scale of the fight hits him. His muscles burn and ache from the strain. He lets the shield drop at his feet and flexes his hand. His fingers are cracked and bleeding, torn from the grip he’d kept on it.

Natasha toes at one of the bodies with her foot. “Does it matter?”

She doesn’t look bothered by this at all. 

Steve wants to ask, but he doesn’t have it in him. Right now, he wants to sit down for a while. His ribs pulse and ache as they start to heal. He can feel the tissue starting to knit itself back together; it’s bizarre. He’s not sure he likes it. 

“We need to keep moving. If we stay here, they’ll be back. And you’re in no shape to face the Winter Soldier again so soon.” 

“Winter Soldier?” Sam asks before Steve can. “Dude in the gimp mask with the crazy metal arm?” 

Natasha nods. “He’s Pierce’s personal guard. He usually doesn’t leave the engine room.” She turns to Steve, her eyes sharp. “You must have really started pushing buttons to get him down here.” 

“Lucky me,” Steve gripes. “Good. Pushing buttons may be the only way we get anything to change around here.” He takes another deep, painful breath. “Did we find any medical supplies in that last car? A first aid kit, or anything?” Guilt hits him like a punch in the gut; if Erskine hadn’t been shot, he could have helped Sam. He shakes the thought away before it can fester. It’s not going to do him any good. 

Sam grits his teeth as he gets to his feet. “I think I saw one in one of the lockers.” He steps carefully over the bodies strewn about the car and disappears through the door. 

Steve turns. Natasha is watching him with narrowed eyes. “What?” he asks, trying to keep his voice even. 

“How are you healing?” 

This is so not the time to get into this, but he doubts she’s going to let it go. “Does it matter?” he answers back. He flinches at the way her eyes go flinty. With a sigh, he adds, “How did you even know that I was, anyway?”

She taps her nose. “Your scent changed. And you’re not holding yourself the same way. Before, you weren’t breathing nearly as deeply as you are. I can only assume that they don’t hurt as badly as they did before.”

Steve’s impressed despite himself. “There was a doctor, in the tail section. He’s dead now, but he gave me something.” His lips turn up in a bitter smile. “It made me stronger. More resilient. It also allows me to heal. It’s the reason I actually have a fighting chance at making it to the front.” 

She stares at him for a long moment, long enough to make Steve want to fidget under her gaze. Finally, she says, “Fair enough,” and moves towards the door. 

Strange. Steve’s not sure what to make of that.

Sam returns with a rusted first aid kit. The kit appears pretty picked over when Steve opens it, but there are enough supplies so that Steve can splint Sam’s arm. It’s a painful process for everyone involved. Sam keeps his whimpers trapped behind his teeth and his entire body is rigid, but Steve tries to be as gentle as he can. When he’s finished, Sam’s covered in sweat and waves Steve off and lets his head fall back against the wall with a thunk.

Natasha refuses his help, choosing to tend her hurts herself in between fiddling with the broken door panel. Heat floods Steve’s cheeks, since it’s his fault it’s broken.

It takes a while, but eventually Sam gets to his feet and Natasha has the door ready to go. Steve’s ribs are tender but he has full range of motion again. He picks up the shield, though the grip makes him wince a little. “So, you’ve worked with this...Winter Soldier, before?” he asks finally.

Natasha flinches. “Technically, yes. But never directly. As I said, he stays mostly in the front. He guards the engine, and this is the first time I’ve seen him in person.” She inhales sharply through her nose. “He just showed up one day. Nobody’s sure where he came from.” She goes quiet and turns around, effectively ending the conversation. 

Steve’s left with more questions than he started with, but now isn’t the time. While he waits, he lets his mind wander back to the fight and the strange soldier with the metal arm. He can’t seem to let it go; the lack of scent, the way he moved, none of it makes any sense. 

The security door finally slides open and Sam lets out a low whistle from behind Steve. Everywhere there’s parts of machinery and bits of scrap metal, and the sound of gears groaning echoes around them. Tables line the walls, stained dark with what looks like patches of oil. The air tastes metallic on the back of Steve’s tongue, tinged slightly with…

“Is that...the water system?” Sam asks, awed. He steps into the room and reaches out with his good hand to trace along one of the metal pipes. “It’s warm. I’ve forgotten what warm feels like.” 

“Well, it’s understandable, considering you’re trapped in a giant metal box hurtling through the snow and tundra. What else did you expect?”

Steve drops into a fighting stance at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. “Who are you? Come out now!” he barks. 

A man emerges from behind the water tank in the center of the car, hands in the air. He’s wearing a shirt that may have been white at some time, but now is more a sicky shade of gray. His fingers are stained black, just like the shabby apron he’s wearing. “While it’s very nice to see my beautifully crafted shield being put to use, do you think you could _not_ hit me with it?” 

When Steve lowers it, the man puts his hands down. “Thanks. Now, I need to get back to double-checking the pipes and tuning the pressure, so if you’ll excuse me.” He ducks back down and the air fills with the sound of tapping and metal on metal. 

“Do you think we should leave him here? He’s seen our faces,” Steve whispers, voice pitched low. He’s not sure what to make of him, if he’s honest. 

Natasha goes to open her mouth, but the man’s voice rings out, “That won’t be necessary. I’m just the technician. And maintenance man. And designer of this whole damn system, but who cares about that?” There’s a bit more grumbling, before he speaks again. “The name is Howard, and since you’re the ones with the weapons, I doubt trying to stand in your way would be the wisest idea.” More tapping noises follow, coupled with a loud, worrying hiss.

“Maintenance man?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“You heard right. Somebody’s got to keep all these moving parts working.” He pops back up and wipes his hands on his apron, not that it does much good. 

Underneath the smell of oil and metal, Steve catches the scent of Omega and his mouth briefly waters. He starts to drift closer to him, but goes tense when he realizes what he’s doing. He frowns and steps back, noting the looking of confusion on Sam’s face out of the corner of his eye. 

“Anyway, I doubt you’re here to talk about water systems and pipe schematics,” Howard quips. 

Steve shakes his head to clear it. “Uh, yeah. We were just heading through,” he says lamely. 

Howard rubs his hands together. “Of course you are. There’s not really anywhere else to go, now is there?” He walks over to one of the tables and starts tinkering with it. Steve’s a bit afraid to ask. “Though, you gotta know, Pierce isn’t going to like you strolling up there. Not with her,” he points to Natasha, “And not with that shield. And you’re not going to like what you see up there, either.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, Howard focuses on the contraption he’s fiddling with. “I didn’t know either, when I was moved back here. I had my berth up front and one day I got stuck back here. I didn’t know what to expect. I wish someone had told me.”

Sam snorts. “You’re not really telling us now.”

“She didn’t either.”

They both turn to look at Natasha, who shrugs. “What did you want me to say? I’m here to open doors and lead you to the engine so I can figure out a way to put a bullet through Rumlow’s skull for locking me in a box for the last few years, not make friends” she replies coolly. 

Her scent spikes and Steve has to take a deep breath to keep himself calm. Between Howard’s Omega scent and the spike in Natasha’s, it’s a fight to keep it together. Part of his brain itches to rise to her challenge, but he knows that’s not what’s going on here.

Sam steps between them. He holds out his good hand and looks back and forth between them. “Calm down, both of you. And you need to stop antagonizing them. I’m not dealing with two Alphas fighting over you when we have other things to worry about,” he says pointedly, to which Howard just shrugs. 

Natasha eyes Sam for a moment, before her shoulders relax. “Fine,” is all she says, though her gaze doesn’t leave Sam. “You’re both smart men, I’m sure you’ve guessed that the rest of the train isn’t like the tail section. I didn’t think I needed to spell it out for you.” Howard huffs, and she turns a sharp look on him that shuts him up pretty quickly. “Now I’m just confirming it for you.”

“We figured as much,” Sam replies, looking at Steve. “You okay?”

He nods, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m fine. I don’t know where that came from. My instincts weren’t as strong before, back when Bucky...when we were together.” He doesn’t miss the way Natasha’s eyes narrow at that. 

“I know. Let’s keep moving, okay?” Sam claps him on the back before walking away. 

Howard slips into the space that Sam just vacated and Steve has to fight the urge to lean down and sniff his neck. “Anyway, thanks for the visit. It gets really lonely down here. Maybe stop by on your way back to the tail section?” 

Steve takes a large step away. It’s tempting, to lean into Howard and bathe in that smell. He’s not stupid, though. There’s also a painful throb in his chest when he thinks about it. Bucky’s been gone for so long, but Steve...doesn’t want to think about that. Not right now. Instead, he says politely, “Sure. Thanks for letting us through, I guess.” 

“Wasn’t a matter of letting you, really. You were going whether I wanted you to or not. But, thanks for saying it.” With that, Howard flits off and Steve can finally breathe again. 

And they’re off.

-*-

Steve’s surprised that it takes Natasha as long as it does to ask, “Who’s Bucky?” 

They’re currently making their way through a car that seems to be nothing but a giant aquarium. Brightly colored fish of all shapes and sizes swim lazily about the glass dome over their heads. It brings back brief memories of aquariums Steve visited as a child, at least until Natasha’s question brought them to a screeching halt. He sighs. “Bucky was my Omega. We hadn’t mated yet, but we were planning on it. He didn’t care that I was skinny, or sickly. He waved off all the people who told him that a healthy Omega like him could have anyone he wanted. Instead, he wanted me.” His mouth curves into a smile even as his eyes sting a little. “But then…”

Sam is beside him, clutching at his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell her, Steve.” His brown eyes are soft and the warmth of his hand bleeds through Steve’s clothing. It’s a comfort, the same comfort it offered when Steve was small and Sam listened to countless stories and memories. 

But he’s started now, he might as well finish. “We were boarding the train. It was chaos; we had tickets, but that didn’t promise that we’d make it on. Everyone was running and pushing and shoving. People were getting trampled. I had his hand one minute. Damn it though. I should have held on tighter but some asshole fell into us. A fight had broken out nearby and he just fell into us. It sent him and Bucky over.” He lets out a shaky exhale and his eyes start to burn. “I watched him disappear underneath the mob. I tried to get back to him, but I couldn’t. I got swept up and ended up on the train. Then the doors slammed shut.”

His voice cracks and he can’t get the words out. The memory of watching Bucky fall, eyes wide and his face white, flashes through his mind. Why didn’t he just tell Natasha it was none of her business?

He takes a deep breath. Then another. It’s all he can do to keep himself from shaking apart. 

It’s silent for a long, tense moment. Sam keeps rubbing his shoulder and Natasha is looking at him with narrowed eyes. He wonders for a moment if she knows what it feels like, if maybe she lost someone too. But he doesn’t dare ask. 

Finally, she says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my question would cause you such pain.” 

Steve shrugs. “He was my entire world. Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” He readjusts his grip on the shield, anything to not make eye contact. 

She doesn’t say anything else. They move into the next car, one that leaves Steve a little breathless. It’s some sort of greenhouse, filled to the brim with riotous green everywhere he turns. The air is warm and humid, underlaid with the smell of earth. There are flowers and vegetables in neat planter boxes, as well as trees that are heavy with fruit. 

Steve reaches up and grabs a shiny red apple from one of the trees. He bites into with a solid crunch and his eyes nearly roll back in his head as the sweet flavor bursts across his tongue. It’s been too long since he’s tasted something so fresh. 

Meanwhile, Sam is sifting his hand through one of the planters, a look of awe on his face. “I’d forgotten what it felt like,” he whispers. He holds up a palmful and lets it sift back through his fingers. “It’s just dirt. Why am I tearing up over dirt?” 

“It’s not just dirt,” Natasha replies quietly. 

The sun is shining through the glass panes of the greenhouse and outside, the train hurtles past more of the devastation left behind by the freeze. The hollowed out remains of a city, covered in ice, stretches out towards them. Steve can’t even identify which one it might be. Natasha’s right; it’s not just dirt. It’s yet another reminder of what has ceased to be around them. 

“I spent years in the desert, when I was deployed. I always used to complain about the sand. It’s so hard to walk on, you know? And it gets everywhere. And I mean, literally everywhere. I’d have it between my toes, in the crack of my ass,” Sam says out of nowhere, fingers still swirling around in the dirt in the box. “Now I’d give anything to remember what that feels like.” 

“I could put some down your pants, if you’d like,” Natasha offers dryly. 

Sam blinks at her for a moment, and then he starts to laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that comes deep down inside. The sound nearly knocks Steve over; he’s never heard Sam laugh like that before. “Nah, I think I’ll pass,” Sam says. He’s smiling now and that alone makes Steve want to hug Natasha. 

She smiles at him. “If you’re sure.” 

Steve has to hide a smile of his own. What an interesting development, he thinks. He keeps it to himself, at least for now.


	5. Part V

-*-

After winding their way through the greenhouse, Steve’s belly is full for the first time since he could remember. He’d ignored the gawking looks from the people tending the gardens as he’d devoured fruit after fruit. Luscious tomatoes, more apples, and even an orange or two. Sam and Natasha had done the same, eating their fill before they decided it was time to move on.

The next car is noisy. It’s brightly colored and it takes Steve a moment to realize that the car is filled with children. Each one is wearing a clean, crisp school uniform and they’re all sitting in school desks in neat little rows.

He’s floored. The kids in the tail section can’t even get proper food or beds to sleep in, and these children are in _school._

At the front of the classroom, a woman stands behind a wooden podium. She’s heavily pregnant and Steve can make out the bond bite on her neck. “Settle down everyone! It’s time to continue our discussion about the history of the train!” she calls out in a chirpy voice that’s almost grating to listen to. She glances up, her eyes rounding a bit. “And it appears we have guests! It’s time to be on our best behavior.”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorus back to her.

The lights dim and a screen descends from the ceiling. There’s a whirring click of a projector starting and a movie starts to play. “Lesson 25: CW-7 and The Train,” a voice drones as more pictures flash across the screen. “Years ago, scientists decided to formulate a solution to the ever increasing problem of global warming. Through exhaustive research and countless hours of study, they were able to create CW-7, the chemical that would cool the atmosphere and slow down the rapidly changing climate.”

Steve blinks, unable to look away. He supposes it’s good that the children are learning about this, but he’s still boggling over the fact that these children have the opportunity to learn at all.

The picture changes to a slide of people boarding the train, but instead of the chaotic rush that Steve experienced, it shows something completely different. Men and women dressed in fine clothes walk leisurely onto covered walkways with their luggage in tow. It’s sedate and it makes him a little sick to watch. It’s a striking contrast to the disorder and chaos that he remembers being trapped in the middle of. No people being trampled, no frantic crowd surging up like a tidal wave.

“CW-7 was a success, but perhaps too much so. Instead of cooling the atmosphere, it caused a worldwide phenomenon of another ice age. But, through the ingenuity and foresight of Alexander Pierce, a politician and amateur engineer, the train was created to house the last remaining survivors of the catastrophe.” A picture of an older man appears on the screen. He’s dressed in a nice suit and he’s leaning against a desk. His face is heavily lined with age but his smile is kind; he looks like someone’s kindly grandfather. “With the help of a team of inventors and other engineers, the gracious philanthropist was able to bring hope and order to the people.”

Natasha tenses next to Steve. Her fists are clenched at her side. “Gracious my ass,” she snarls under her breath.

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he turns his attention back to the screen, though it’s gone dark. The lights go up and the teacher starts to talk again. “So, what can you tell me about the train?” she asks the class.

A little boy raises his hand. “The train is an engineering marvel. We have all the comforts of home and the food we need right here in the train!” he says brightly.

“That’s right! And what else?”

A girl near the front raises her hand this time. “Without Mr. Pierce, we would all be dead!” The class titters as the teacher shakes her head with a smile.

“What kind of propaganda bullshit is this?” hisses Sam.

“You’re surprised?” Natasha asks, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought everyone was subjected to the videos and the constant talk about how Pierce is our savior.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, I guess we’re too busy being starved and beaten to be indoctrinated.”

Steve lets their bickering fade as he turns his attention back to the classroom. It’s just so...wrong. His fists clench at his side and he bites back a snarl. “Tell me more about Pierce,” he demands.

The teacher blinks at him before clicking her tongue. “Pierce is the reason we’re all here. He built this train to withstand the cold and without him, we’d have all died in the storm. Even now we continue to prosper as we make our way through the ice and snow,” she says with a sniff. “Although it seems that some of us are more grateful than others.”

“You’re calling us ungrateful?” Sam shrieks. He steps forward, but Steve hands stays him.

He’s just as mad, can feel the same molten fury at this woman’s...ignorance flaring in his veins, but he wants to believe it’s because she doesn’t know. The alternative makes him ill. “Well, thank you for the history lesson, but I think we best be on our way.”

She stands stock still for a moment, fingers clasped against the edge of the podium. Her hands shift for just moment before she’s clapping them together. “All right, children. It’s time for art. Does anyone remember what we’re going to draw today?”

“The train!” the children shout together.

“Yes, now, please get out your crayons and I want you to draw your very own version of the train, okay? I’m sure Mr. Pierce would love to see your designs! Don’t forget to-”

She doesn’t get to finish. There’s barely time to think before the door slams open and the soldier from before stalks through. He’s clutching a large rifle, raised and aimed towards the center of Steve’s chest. The sight of it makes Steve’s blood run cold. The space is so small; if he shoots, it’s liable to hit one of the children.

The room descends into chaos. The children are screaming and the teacher is yelling at them to get down under their desks. She herself is hiding under the podium, clutching her belly with both arms.

Natasha moves to strike, but the soldier stops her with a shot to her shoulder. The sound rings out and rattles through Steve’s bones. Natasha folds in on herself and the soldier swings his arm out, knocking her back. He doesn’t even break his stride as he sends her over the podium. Steve hears Sam yell, but he can’t make out what he’s saying. His blood roars in his ears and he drops down into a fighting stance.

The soldier doesn’t stop. Steve lets the anger and frustration he’s been feeling boil over and he moves toward the other man. He swings out with his shield, but the soldier deflects it with the metal arm. It’s knocked against the wall, sending paintings and posters scattering to the floor.

“Sam, Natasha, keep them safe!” Steve yells. He can’t let this man hurt these children. Instinct to protect flares in him and he rushes forward without thinking. The weapon is still raised and Steve grabs the end of the gun, pressing it to his own forehead. Sam yells something, but it sounds far away. Right now, nothing exists outside of the two of them. “You will not hurt them. I won’t let you. You’ll have to kill me first,” he grits out.

The tip of the barrel presses hard into his skin. His heart is thundering in his chest and he holds his breath. He sees the man’s blue eyes narrow at him before sliding over towards the opposite wall. Steve’s own gaze follows and he sees where Sam has some of the children shoved into the corner behind him. Little scared faces stare back at both of them.

He sees the moment of hesitation, the flicker of expression that creases the soldier’s brow. Steve takes the opportunity and shoves the gun backwards. It’s a risk, but he has to do something. The push is hard enough to kick the soldier’s head back, knocking him off balance. Steve drops down and swipes his foot out. The soldier starts to fall where his feet are out from under him, but quickly recovers. He rolls his body backwards like a snake and falls over the podium. The mask he’s wearing clatters to the floor near Steve’s feet.

The teacher screams and starts to crawl away. Sam motions her towards him and looks up at Steve, but Steve is struck dumb.

The soldier has gotten to his feet and Steve’s heart sticks in his throat. “Bucky?”

It can’t be. He watched Bucky get pulled down, heard his screams as he was lost underfoot. The sight of it has been haunting him for years. There’s no way that that Bucky is standing here in front of him, right now. With a shiny metal arm and a flat expression on his face.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he croaks out. The sound is grating, like he hasn’t spoken in years.

Steve can’t move. Every muscle in his body is locked up tight. His stomach drops to his feet at the sound of that voice, so familiar and yet not. His vision swims and his arms hang limply at his side. It’s like his asthma is back, the air stale and heavy in his lungs.

Bucky’s eyes narrow again and he rights the rifle to aim at Steve again. He should move, but Steve’s rooted to the spot. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. And what would he do? Attack Bucky again? There’s already a blossoming bruise on his forehead where Steve shoved the butt of the gun into it.

He can’t. He just can’t.

Thankfully, someone else makes the decision for him. With a cry, Natasha cracks the shield against the back of Bucky’s head. The force is enough to send him to the floor heavily, his eyes rolled back in his head. Steve lets out a hurt sound and stares up at her. She just stares back, eyebrow raised. “What the hell, Steve?” she hisses. Blood pulses out of her shoulder and her face is ash gray, but still she meets his eyes without hesitation. She tosses him the shield, which he catches with ease.

“It’s...Bucky,” he chokes out. Seeing him sprawled out on the floor makes his heart shrivel up behind his ribs. He steps forward and sinks into a crouch to get a better look at him. The room is thankfully silent now; Sam must have gotten the children and their teacher into another car.

“You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you. What were you thinking?”

Steve swallows and repeats, “It’s Bucky.”

A warm hand lands on his shoulder and Steve looks up into Sam’s concerned eyes. “Steve, are you sure it’s him?” he asks softly.

Is he sure? Now that he's close, he can catch the barest hint of that familiar scent, heavily overlaid with the sickening chemical smell from before. His hair is longer, unwashed and lank. His body is whipcord thin but muscled, even down to the metal arm. But his face, the slope of his nose, even his lips, Steve could never forget them. “Yes,” he whispers. He aches to reach out and touch, but Natasha grabs his wrist before he can.

“Steve, use your head. He attacked you,” she insists, but Steve shakes his head.

“He hesitated. When he saw me, and the kids, he...hesitated. That’s how I knocked him back.”

Natasha snorts and doesn’t let go. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Steve wrestles his hand from her grip. His blood is up and every instinct in him tells him to fight this other Alpha who dares challenge him like this. “You don’t get it. This is my Bucky, the one I was telling you about. There’s...there’s something wrong with him. He smells wrong.”

Her eyebrow quirks at that. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment, challenging, but finally she looks away. “Fine. Say you’re right. Say I believe you. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to attack you again. We need to tie him up.” She pulls a length of length of leather cord from her belt and tosses it to him.

He doesn’t want to do it. Every instinct in him screams to gather his Omega to him and rabbit away, somewhere safe. The idea of hurting Bucky, even like this, makes him want to vomit. This close, the chemical smell is even more overpowering. The taste of it is sour and harsh on the back of his tongue. Where is Bucky’s scent, soft and earthy?

His hands tremble as he loops the cord around Bucky’s wrists. The first touch he’s given his lover in so long and it’s clinical, harsh. He lets his fingers dance over the ridges of the metal arm and has to bite back a whimper. It’s clearly a prosthetic. The idea of Bucky losing his arm makes his insides clench. He’s still a failure of an Alpha, no matter how hard he tries.

“I can’t even imagine how you feel right now, Steve, but I need you to get your head together. You freaking out like this is going to get us all hurt or worse,” Sam says, holding out his good hand for Steve to grab. He leans closer and his voice is soft, enough that even Steve barely catches it. “We’ll figure out whatever’s wrong, okay? Just hang in there.”

“Sam,” Steve chokes out, letting his head fall against the Beta’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath and lets Sam’s soothing scent wash over him. Everything is too much and not enough all at once, but Sam’s right. Steve started this and now he has to finish it. “Go help Natasha. He…shot her.”

Sam bites his lip, but nods before moving away.

It gives Steve some space, his breathing coming in harsh pants. What the hell is he supposed to do now? Drag Bucky along and keep him tied up like a wild animal? He’s still reeling from the fact that he watched his Omega _shoot_ someone. So many questions swirl in his brain and it makes his chest hurt just thinking about it. So, he focuses on breathing. In, out. In, out. He closes his eyes and zeroes in on the rise and fall of his own chest, counting each exhale.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but finally he feels like he can breathe again. When he looks up, Natasha is staring at him with an unreadable expression. She’s got the length of cord in her hand “Are we ready?” she asks crisply.

“Are you?” he asks. He ticks his head up in the direction of her shoulder. It’s bandaged now with what looks like parts of Sam’s jacket, red already seeping through.

She snorts. “Don’t worry about me. Here.” She throws the length of cord at him. “He’s yours, you hold him. Plus, you’re stronger than me.”

It feels like a kick to the gut. Steve reaches down and grabs the end, wrapping it around his wrist. He swallows, unable to look at Bucky’s still prone form laying on the ground. “He’s not awake yet. We’re not dragging him.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “He’ll come to.”

Of course, that’s when Bucky starts to stir. He lets out a groan and his head lolls to the side, just before his eyes go wide and his head snaps up. He starts to struggle against his bonds, his metal arm whirring and clicking even as his flesh one flexes. His bares his teeth and lets out a snarl that makes the hair on Steve’s neck stand up. The struggle gets more violent but the bonds hold fast. By then he’s kicking and growling, more like a wild animal than a man.

Steve feels his heart crack down the center. What happened to Bucky to make him like this? Questions swirl in his head and settle like weights in the middle of his chest.

“You’re going to lead us to the front,” Natasha says.

The action makes Steve’s hackles raise, but he’s surprised when Bucky is the one who lets out a growl loud enough to rival that of an Alpha’s. He goes still and his lip curls over his teeth. He reminds Steve of a cobra in that moment, poised and ready to strike.

“Bucky, please…” Steve begs, voice barely above a whisper.

This time, that cold gaze is focused on him and it chills Steve to the core. There’s nothing there. No spark, no recognition, just a flat stare that he barely recognizes. It’s Bucky’s face staring at him, but it’s clearly not Bucky looking out at him.

He reaches out before he can stop himself. His fingers hover almost close enough to touch…

Bucky snarls and snaps his teeth, inches away from taking Steve’s fingertips off.

Steve has to take a step back. His heart crumbles in his chest and he clenches his fist around the length of cord. “Come on, Bucky,” he manages to choke out.

Bucky’s eyes flick up to his face for a brief second before he lowers his gaze. It’s not submission in his posture, no. He looks more like he’s waiting. After a beat, he rises to his feet with a deadly grace and he starts to walk, pulling the length taut between them. Steve has to hurry to catch up.

By then, Natasha has the door open and she’s studying them both. Thankfully, she says nothing as she slips through, the others following silently behind her.

-*-

Steve forces himself to look at anything but Bucky walking in front of him. The Omega’s posture is rigid, muscles corded with tension as he moves on silent feet. There doesn’t seem to be anything left of the Omega Steve knew, but he refuses to believe that. There’s got to be an explanation for it.

Instead, he focuses on the atmosphere as they continue winding their way through the cars. They must be nearing the front, but what Steve sees makes anger prickle along the back of his neck and down his spine.

Everything is so clean, and luxurious in a way that makes Steve taste bile on the back of his throat. Passengers lounge by a pool and sit on plush couches in a car made to look like a library. Living quarters are decorated with lavish silks and lush trappings, where it seems that they want for absolutely nothing. There’s a dining car with rich smells and expensive wines for the passengers to enjoy. Even the people look otherworldly, their hair and faces full and rich with color.

It’s hard for Steve to keep his temper in check about it all. He ignores the way the startled passengers gawk as they move through; he’s not sure if it’s because of Bucky or because of they way they look. He’s painfully aware of his dirty clothes, of Sam and Natasha’s blatant injuries. They stick out like a sore thumb.

He swallows back a growl, which is when Sam falls in step beside him. “Hey, I thought you might want to see this.” He hands Steve the mask that Bucky had been wearing. It’s made of a hard plastic, but it’s not hollow. Like a muzzle, but heavier. “Can you smell that?”

Steve lifts it to his nose. It’s distinctly chemical and bitter, making the inside of his nose hurt and his head swim a little. “What is it? I’ve never smelled something like that before.”

“Suppressants. They were used sometimes in the field for Alphas on specialized missions. It helps keep them from rutting. Also, they can be used to dampen the sense of smell so that they won’t react to strong Omega scents,” Sam explains grimly.

“How do you know that?”

At first, Sam doesn’t answer. He chews on his lip and then lets out a sigh. “I used to be a pararescue, in the military. I have extensive medical training, so I know what suppressants smell like. I’ve had to administer them more than once in the field.” He takes the mask back from Steve and tucks it into his jacket. Steve’s not ashamed to admit that he breathes a little easier when it disappears from sight.

“So you think he’s been drugged? But what would make him behave this way?” Steve asks quietly.

“Clearly he’s been dosed with suppressants, judging by his scent. And I’d be willing to be that this mask has some sort of filtration in it to keep him from scenting anyone else, either. I don’t know, Steve. Alpha suppressants aren’t made for Omegas, and vice versa. There’s probably unknown side effects.” He jerks his head towards where Bucky is walking ahead of them. “Might explain the memory loss, especially with prolonged use.”

The very idea makes Steve’s stomach drop to somewhere around his feet. “Thanks, Sam,” he says with a long exhale.

Sam nods and they fall into a companionable silence. In that moment, Steve is really grateful that Sam decided to come with him.

It’s then that he notices Bucky looking over his shoulder at them, his eye trained to where Sam’s arm brushes up against his own. It’s not a close touch, but he doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s eye seems to narrow before he jerks his head back around.

“I’m not who you think I am.”

Bucky’s voice is grating, rusty like he hasn’t used it in a very long time. The tone is flat and there’s no trace of his accent.

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes you are. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. We’ve been friends since we were kids. And we…” he pauses, not sure if he can get the words out. “We were almost mates.”

There’s no reaction. Not even a twitch. Instead, Bucky repeats, “I’m not who you think I am.” He doesn’t add anything else and keeps walking.

He wants to argue. Steve wants to tell him how wrong he is, that he’s just confused and they’ll fix this. But he’s not so sure he can. He hates being helpless; it makes him feel like that scrawny kid with bad lungs all over again.


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include: Implied dub-con in two separate instances, as well as blink-and-you-miss-it mpreg.

-*- 

The next car hits Steve like a truck. The atmosphere is thick and smoky with incense and it’s dimly lit. Everything’s draped in reds and golds, from the thick couches to the plump cushions that line the walls. It’s decadent and lush and it makes his head swim. Even Natasha seems affected, a dreamy look flickering across her face before she locks it down behind a frown.

The worst is the smell. Rich, warm scents fill the air and make his mouth water. Some are sweet like honey, others musky and deep like the sea. His senses are on overload and it takes him a moment to realize where they’re coming from. 

Omegas. The entire room is filled with Omegas, both male and female. A couple of them are in various states of pregnancy, but the rest carry the thick scent of heat and arousal. He can’t look away from them. Each one of them is beautiful and smells absolutely divine. 

His eyes track one in particular, a slim man with vibrant eyes that’s draped in soft-looking fabric around his waist and across his shoulders. He’s breath-taking to look at and the man smiles at Steve like a cat. He flows to his feet and walks towards Steve, hips swaying and his head tipped up in offer. 

“Hello,” the man purrs. He reaches out and lets a single finger drag down the front of Steve’s shirt. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

Steve’s struck a little speechless. He can dimly hear Sam saying something to him, but the honeyed smell of heat hits him like a ton of bricks. It’s the first heat scent he’s caught since the serum amped up his Alpha instincts and his mouth waters. His cock twitches in his pants and he leans down to scent this pretty Omega so close to him…

When suddenly the same Omega is shoved harshly to the side and Steve’s shaken out of his trance by an angry snarl. Bucky’s close but not touching, standing in front of Steve with his teeth bared. It sends jolts through Steve’s entire being. 

People always think of Alphas as jealous, territorial. It’s true, but they often forget that Omegas can be as well. The idea of Bucky guarding what’s _his_ makes Steve’s blood boil in the best way. “Bucky,” he moans. 

Bucky’s attention snaps to Steve and he licks his lips. His eyes roam across Steve’s face and then down to his mouth before his brow furrows. He squints and then puts distance back between them, though he lets out another small growl at the Omega on the floor. The rest of them are wide-eyed and very still, like they don’t want to anger Bucky by getting too close. 

Steve’s left with a confusing mix of emotions. It must show on his face because Sam asks, “What the hell was that?” 

“Territorial display,” Natasha answers simply. She looks around the room with a sniff of disinterest. “Very interesting.” 

Bucky doesn’t respond. 

“Yeah, okay. But what the hell is this place? This isn’t normal.”

Natasha glances back at Sam, face blank. “Breeding quarters. Population control. You didn’t notice that all the children we’ve seen in the upper sections are roughly about the same age? Think about it.” 

Sam lets out a disgusted noise. “This place gets more and more fucked up the further we go. Let’s get out of here.” 

They move through the car without any more trouble. Bucky stays several steps ahead of Steve, but lets out the occasional noise when one of the Omegas in the car is too close. The blank mask is back, but Steve knows him well enough to see where it’s cracking around the edges. Hope soars in his chest. He picks up the pace so they’re side by side. “That was quite a display, Buck. Reminds me of the time you nearly let Gil O’Hara have it when he propositioned me in a bar. Thought I was an Omega, but you sure didn’t like him getting that close.” He snorts at the memory. Bucky had been hissing mad and had let everyone know his thoughts on people hitting on Steve. 

There’s no immediate reaction, at least at first. Then, there’s the slightest twitch in Bucky’s expression, near his mouth. The barest hint of a frown, but it’s gone as quick as it had come. 

Still, Steve barrels on. “Or the time at the baseball game. That guy wouldn’t leave you be, when you were so close to your heat. We were in line for hot dogs and he started talking about bringing you home. I think I broke three of my knuckles when I socked him in the nose.” 

This time, it’s a muscle in Bucky’s cheek that moves just the barest inch. At least Steve knows he’s listening. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry that this happened. I wish I would have been stronger, could have held on tighter. I tried to come back, tried to fight my way through, but the crowd-”

“Stop.” 

Steve looks up and Bucky’s face is pinched and pale. Droplets of sweat dot his forehead and his teeth are clenched tight. 

Confused, Steve nods and goes quiet. He’s not sure what it means, but he can let it go for now. 

They journey on in silence. Once they move into the next car, Steve feels like he can breathe again. The air is stale and musty; it reminds him of his grandmother’s attic. It’s a mish-mash of storage closets and drawers, with lots of random bits of junk everywhere. There’s only one window near the center of of the car, filmed over with dust and grime. “Is this a junk room?” he asks, glancing around.

“Probably where people were told to store their possessions they couldn’t fit in their berths. Some of the wealthier people on the train had a hard time letting things go,” Natasha comments. She goes over to the window and wipes it with her sleeve. She squints as she looks outside then lets out a gasp. 

“What is it?” Steve asks, walking towards her. He accidentally tugs Bucky along, who scowls at him. 

She shakes her head. “Nothing...I just...thought I saw something. Anyway, let’s see if we can find anything to use here.” She starts to rifle through the nearest cabinet and pulls out a long, thick winter coat made of fine leather and a fur trim. “Coats?”

“It did start getting cold before the train was boarded. They were probably just stored here with everything else,” Sam says, pulling another one out of an old trunk shoved against the wall. “This thing smells like mothballs, gross.” 

After some thorough searching, they find some old clothes to cannibalize to change Natasha’s bandages and rewrap Sam’s arm, along with more coats and enough winter gear to make Steve start to get curious. “Do you think people imagined they’d eventually stop the train?” he wonders out loud. 

Natasha winces as Sam shifts her shoulder. “It’s possible. But naive. I doubt Pierce wanted anyone to get off the train. Why else would he have ordered people to put these things somewhere they’d be forgotten?” 

Bucky says nothing, sat silently nearby watching each of them like a hawk. His eyes track Steve’s movements the most, but he’s definitely keeping watch over all of them. His brows are still furrowed and the corners of his mouth are turned down. As time wears on, more and more expression seems to bleed out onto his face. 

Sam uses both hands to knot the ends of the shirt. There’s no mistaking the wince on his features. “That should hold. How’s it feel?” he asks.

“Better, thank you,” Natasha replies, rolling her shoulder. There’s a brief touch of her hand against Sam’s and Steve has to fight back a smile. 

As Steve sets to work, he can feel Bucky’s eyes on him the entire time. They’re zeroed in where they’re skin to skin and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say the look was almost...covetous. Bucky’s instincts must be in full-swing, even if his mind didn’t seem to understand. Still, he didn’t want another repeat of what had happened in the breeding car, so he tried to keep his touches as professional and clinical as possible. Once they were done, he got to his feet. “We need to keep going. Are we almost at the front?” 

Natasha nods and rises as well, helping Sam to his feet. “Let’s go.” 

“Should we take these with us?” Sam asks, pointing to the pile of winter gear they’d recovered. 

Natasha’s expression is unreadable. “It’ll slow us down, but...I’d keep it in mind,” she says vaguely. With one last look at accumulated jackets, coats, and scarves, she turns on her heel and quickly opens the door. 

After a walk through a small, narrow corridor, they step out into a well-lit room that’s warm and pleasant. Shelves upon shelves full of books line the walls, with fat, squishy armchairs decorated in red velvet sitting next to a fireplace. It’s not lit, but there are ashes in the hearth like it was not too long ago. There’s even an antique writing desk made of a warm-colored wood in a far corner that’s stacked with papers and various bits of detritus. 

“Are we in Pierce’s office?” Steve asks, glancing around. He lets the fingers of his free hand trace along the spines of some of the books. Many of them are old, bound in leather and faintly musty. Others are titles of books he recognizes from before, things he’d read in high school or during his many hours sick in bed. 

“I think we are. This is...I didn’t know this was here,” Natasha replies. She walks behind the desk and picks up some of the papers. “These are...plans, I think. For the train, and for buildings?” Her mouth tips down in a frown. “This doesn’t make any sense.” 

Sam motions them over to a shelf on the other side. “Look at these. These are books on agriculture and farming. And there’s also some on cloth-making and other stuff. I’m pretty sure my granny had this exact book,” he says, pulling out a book about using a loom. “Why would someone have these?” 

“Private collection, maybe?” Steve answers, biting his lip. Something about the whole thing feels very off. Even with as little as his knowledge of Alexander Pierce is, he doubts the man seems like the type to make his own cloth or grow his own crops. “Maybe it was for the train. We did pass by the farming car. And the water filtration system.”

Natasha drops the papers back onto the desk. “That was Howard’s doing, remember?”

At the mention of the other Omega’s name, a muscle in Bucky’s face twitches. He keeps staring straight ahead, just to the left of Steve’s shoulder. 

“Bucky...do you know Howard?” Steve asks gently.

Another twitch and Bucky’s eyes flick to his for just a moment before skating away again. “No,” he says, but there’s the thinnest shred of a tremor underneath the hardness in his tone. He sounds almost confused. 

“I think you’re lying,” Natasha states, folding her arms across her chest. “You may not know you’re lying, but I think you’re lying.”

“Okay, because that makes a whole lot of sense,” Sam mutters, earning himself a sour look from Natasha. He holds his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying. The guy isn’t willing to talk and his brain is probably all scrambled from those suppressants in the mask. Long-term exposure to the wrong kind can do that to you.” His face turns grim for a moment and he glances at Bucky, who is now staring a hole through Sam’s face. “Just being honest.”

Bucky’s lip curls up at the edge and he looks away with a snort. 

Before anything else can happen, Steve cuts in, “Whatever is going on, we need to keep moving. I intend to find out.” Nothing makes any sense. The disappearing children, the books in the library, Bucky’s memory loss and metal arm...all of it swirls in Steve’s head in a maddening rush. All he can do is keep pressing forward and maybe, just maybe, he’ll find the answers he needs.

-*-

The door slides open without a sound and it opens into a vast, open space. The echoes of machinery hums and whirrs swirl through the air. It’s dark, a bit dingy, and there’s the faint scent of oil in the air. In front of them is a narrow walkway that hovers over where gears and pistons move and shift. 

This is it. They’ve reached the engine. 

For a moment, Steve feels all of the air leave his lungs. His head swims and he has to force himself to breathe. The world grays out for a split second at the edges. Now’s not the time for panic, but the maelstrom of emotions swirling in his gut is threatening to consume him. All this time, he’s thought about being here and now that he is, he’s not sure what to do. 

“Steve? Are you okay?” Sam’s voice breaks through the fog and he glances up to where Sam’s eyes are lined with worry. 

He shakes his head and motions forward, not trusting himself to speak. Natasha heads first across the walkway, with Bucky following behind and Steve following after. Sam is at the rear and together they troop across in silence. The sound of their footfalls fill up the space where words aren’t and Steve loses himself in his own head again. His heart is rabbiting in his chest at the idea of being _so close._

They step off and looming in front of them is a giant metal door that resembles a safe or the opening to a bank vault. There’s an electronic lock in the far corner and across the width is what looks like a giant octopus emblazoned across the front. A strange choice, but Steve can’t bring himself to care. He lets out another shaky exhale and clenches his fists at his side. 

“What are you going to do, now that you’re here?” 

Hearing Bucky’s voice surprises him. He’s staring at Steve with that now familiar empty expression, but there’s something behind his eyes, something that wasn’t there hours before. Steve feels a bit like something under a microscope, having that gaze on him.

He laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound, but it bubbles up from somewhere deep down inside of him. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten. It’s been ages since he’d slept last. The rush of the fight and finding Bucky has long since worn off. He’s so tired, and not just because he needs to sit down and rest. 

“I don’t know,” he answers simply. Steve scrubs a hand across his face and tilts his head up, not really seeing the ceiling above him. “I thought I knew. I had this idea in my head that I’d come up here, demand to see Pierce, maybe strong-arm him into fixing what’s wrong with the end of the train. Demand to know where the kids are that keep disappearing. Maybe even force him with my fists…” His words trail off and he glances over to where Natasha and Sam stand on his other side, both of him watching him carefully. “I’ve spent so long being angry. Angry about losing you, about being a five foot tall Alpha with crappy lungs and a mouth too big for his own good. I was angry at watching people eat rotten food and getting beaten up by Alphas just because they couldn’t fight back. Ten years I’ve planned on making this journey up here. Ten years I’ve hated Pierce, this train, and everything else. Ten years I’ve waited for this. And you know what? Now I don’t know what to do.” 

He lets out another laugh that tapers off into a small, hitching sob. He won’t cry; there’s no tears left and this isn’t the time. He’s so close. 

“You don’t have to do this, Steve,” Natasha insists. 

Steve looks at her, then. Her fierce green eyes and her serious expression, and he knows she means it. “No, I do. Just like you do,” he says. He remembers what she said about coming with them, about wanting to take her revenge on Rumlow. He gets it, now. “Open the gate, please.” 

However, before she can get too far, there’s a loud clanking noise and a mechanical hiss. They all take a step back as the gate starts to swing open. Instinctively, Steve steps in front of Bucky and crowds him, even though the other man lets out a growl at the close contact. His pulse thunders in his ears as he raises the shield, just in case. 

Out steps Rumlow, lips curled over his teeth in a feral snarl. “Thank you for bringing our Asset back. _Soldier, subdue him_ ,” he barks out, voice heavy with Alpha timbre. 

Rage roils through Steve, even as his ears ring from the sound. Using the Alpha voice is one of the worst things an Alpha can do. There’s a reasons that the laws against it existed before the train, as strict and swift as the ones against rape or assault. The idea of this man, this _animal_ , using it on Bucky makes Steve see red. Before he can think about it, he lunges forward with a snarl. He’ll tear out his throat, he’ll rip that smile off Rumlow’s face…

Instead, Steve finds himself slammed to the ground, Bucky pressing down on him with the metal arm. His eyes are flat and unseeing, like glass marbles in his sockets. There’s so much strength coiled in the metal limb.

Steve could probably throw him off. All he’d have to do is roll his shoulders and swing out with the entire force of his strength, but he doesn’t want to hurt Bucky. Every instinct in him screams at him to protect his Omega, even as that Omega has him pinned to the floor. 

“Good work, Asset. Mr. Pierce is expecting you, Rogers,” Rumlow purrs. 

Steve is forced to his feet and Bucky herds him through the door. He glances back, just in time to see Natasha rushing Rumlow just as he had. She doesn’t speak or make any noise, just strikes out with her fist. The last thing he sees as he rounds the corner is that the two of them are fighting viciously, Sam doing his best to stay out of the way but there if Natasha needs him.


	7. Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include: mild dub-con (due to use of Alpha voice), violence, implied child death.

-*- 

The inside of the engine is nothing like Steve expected. Everything is brushed steel and sterile-clean, no fingerprints or spots to be seen. Inside, there’s a solid wood table and two ornate chairs that are covered with plush red velvet cushions. A red silk runner spans the length of the table, accenting the delicate looking china place settings and crystal wine glasses resting on the tabletop. 

“Steve Rogers...it’s an honor to finally meet you.” 

Steve glances up and feels his lip curl. Alexander Pierce stands before him in a comfortable looking linen shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His heavily lined face is soft and he’s smiling. He holds out his hand, but chuckles when Steve isn’t able to take it. 

_“Let him go,”_ Pierce orders in his own Alpha voice. A shiver runs through Bucky and he lets Steve go, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Don’t worry, Soldier. I doubt our friend here will be a threat while you’re standing there. Please, have a seat.”

Steve shakes his hands to get feeling back into them. “Why should I?” he asks with a scowl. His breath is coming fast and he can feel the residual anger burning through his veins, sharp like acid. “Why should I sit at your goddamn table and eat your food while others are starving?” 

Pierce sighs. “It’s the polite thing to do. Can’t we have a decent meal before we start discussing business? I’m sure you have better manners than this. You’re angry and confused, but don’t worry, I’ll explain in due time. So please, sit down.” He motions towards the chair.

It takes Steve every ounce of willpower to force his body to move. He sits down and watches Pierce as he starts bringing dishes to the table. The rich smell of meats and steamed vegetables hits his nose and his mouth waters despite himself. Food hasn’t smell this good in years. His stomach lets out a mighty growl, but he doesn’t reach for any of the food. “Don’t be ashamed to eat, Steve. We wouldn’t want this to go to waste,” Pierce says amiably. He slides into the other chair and pours himself a glass of red wine. 

“Why, you’d just give it to the tail section when it rots. What does it matter?”

“That’s why I like you, Steve. Straight to the point. You don’t play games and you just...say what you mean.” Pierce takes a sip of his wine. “I know you’re angry, as I said. You’ve been angry since the day you’ve stepped on this train.” At Steve’s surprised look, Pierce smiles and nods his head. “Yes, I know all about you. Brock has had quite a lot to say about the scrawny little Alpha with a big mouth who refused to toe the line. Though, I see that some of those adjectives no longer seem to apply,” he says, motioning with his fork. 

Steve pretends to not know what he’s talking about. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I suspect it had something to do with Doctor Erskine. The man loved his secrets. Brilliant, if a bit eccentric from what I remember of his research.” Pierce’s eyes roam across the span of his shoulders, the sharp angles of his face. Still, Steve says nothing. “I guess it’s a moot point, considering he’s gone now. A terrible mistake, I assure you. He had great plans for you.”

“What?” Steve demands.

Pierce smiles indulgently. “Of course. Didn’t you realize? Why else would you have been given whatever lightning in a bottle he gave you to make you look like that? I knew he had something, but I let him keep it. I could have given it to one of my STRIKE team, or even to the Soldier here,” he says, snapping his fingers. Bucky comes to heel next to the table and it makes Steve’s stomach roil. “But no. I let it alone. And now you’re here, which is perfect.”

He doesn’t believe it. Steve can’t let himself believe that this was all some elaborate plan of Pierce’s. Erskine was a good man, not like the one standing in front of him. “Say I believe you, say Erskine helped me for you...why? Why would he?” 

“You and your friends are the first to walk the entire length of this train, did you know that? I have to applaud your determination. Which is exactly why I allowed you to get this far.” Pierce laces his fingers together and rests them on the table. “And now that you’re here, we have so much to discuss.” 

Steve still hasn’t touched his plate. Even as his stomach churns with the need to eat, he refuses to touch what this man has offered him. “Like what?” he spits out. 

Pierce takes another sip of wine and rests his napkin in his plate. “Tell me, what do you think about the train, Steve?” 

Surprise floods Steve’s face, then twists into a scowl. “Honestly? It’s fucked up. Your Alphas roam around and do what they want. People are starving and dying of disease while you sit here and eat steak. You have an entire car filled with Omegas that are there just for _breeding._ You teach your children that you’re some kind of benevolent god that was sent here to save us all. It’s disgusting.” He clenches his fists at his side and grits his teeth. 

As if he barely noticed Steve’s anger, Pierce nods along. It makes Steve want to deck him. “I see. I’m sorry to hear that you feel that way, Steve. Though, I think that it’s just that you don’t understand.” He rises to his feet and folds his hands behind his back. “The world was chaos, Steve. Too many uncontrollable factors, unpredictable leaders who made poor decisions, people rising up and causing problems...it was messy. But now, here on this train, everything runs like clockwork. Sure, there’s room for improvement, but do you not see? Everything is provided, everything runs like a well-oiled machine. Order, Steve. Everything is in perfect, working order.” 

Everything in him goes numb. It’s like someone doused him with a bucket of ice water. Steve can’t even believe what he’s hearing. “This isn’t the Ark, and you’re not Noah.” His mouth drops open in horror. “Did...did you do this? Make the world like this?”

Pierce chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I can’t take the credit for that, myself. I knew the scientists who worked on the project, and understood the importance of their work. They knew we needed a change and so they made it happen. The organization I work for approached me to design the train. We had planned to one day stop and start civilization over again, but why? Why allow ourselves to devolve into chaos again?” 

“So, what, your plan is to just keep us all on this train forever?” Steve growls, slamming his fists down onto the table. The force of it rattles the dishes and upends the glass of wine. 

“It’s for the best, really. There’s nothing but a wasteland outside. I’m sure you’ve had the chance to look through the window, yes?” At Steve’s short nod, Pierce continues. “There’s nothing for us out there. In here, there’s food, shelter, warmth, companionship…” His eyes slant towards Bucky, who is still standing stockstill next to the table. “But I know you’re not happy with the way things are run and I can respect that. Which is why I want you to take over for me.”

All of Steve’s thoughts screech to a halt. “What?” 

Pierce sits on the edge of the table and folds his hands in his lap. He smiles softly down at Steve. “I’m an old man and I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep this train running for much longer. I’ve been looking for someone to replace me.”

“And you want me? You don’t even know me,” Steve says, confused. “I would have thought Rumlow would have been your first choice.”

“Brock is a good soldier, but that’s not what makes a leader. No, I need someone who is strong and capable. You’ve shown that by coming all the way up here. Just think, Steve.” Pierce gets to his feet and spreads his arms. “Think of all the good you could do. And you’d have your Omega.” 

Pierce doesn’t seem to notice the way that Bucky’s eyes slide over to meet Steve’s. His brow is furrowed and Steve watches the pink of his tongue dart out to lick his lips, a nervous tick that Bucky’s had since childhood. 

“I was the one who found him, lying there in the snow. His arm was unable to be saved, but with Howard’s help, we were able to give him the metal one. Even out of his head with pain, he still talked about you, the tiny Alpha he loved so dearly. Of course, I wasn’t sure if you’d survived, so I just spared him the pain of unfulfilled hope by just telling him you’d died. Little did I know that you’d fight your way up here and prove me wrong!” Pierce says with a chuckle. “But here you both are, together again. The Soldier has served me well, but I’d be happy to give him back to you.”

“He’s not a thing,” Steve snaps. 

The other man smiles indulgently. “Of course not. I meant no offense. Why don’t you take some time and think about my offer? All of this, yours to shape as you want. All you have to do is say yes.” Pierce nods once before he turns back to the table, starting to clear away the dishes. 

Steve’s mind reels. He can’t deny that the idea of being in charge is appealing; some latent instinct of his tells him that it’d only be right. He’s the strongest and most capable. Sam and Natasha followed him into battle without any issue. Here, in the pristine walls of the engine, he could be in control. 

The “yes” is on the tip of his tongue, but then he looks at Bucky, standing there watching him with haunted blue eyes. He thinks of Peggy and the others, waiting in the back for him to make things right. He thinks of Howard, the Omegas, the missing children. Natasha locked in the box, Rumlow’s fist bright red with Steve’s blood. He thinks of Bucky, drugged and muzzled like an animal to do as this man bid him to do. 

_You’re a good man, Steven._ The thought conjures up the memory of another offer, from a far better man who expected great things from him. The words resonate deep down in his bones and he glances up, meeting Pierce’s expectant gaze.

The answer is simple.

“No. I’m not like you. These people don’t deserve to be caged inside this metal box just so that you can rule them, and I’m not going to let you do this anymore,” Steve says, voice steady. He widens his stance and draws his shoulders back. 

Pierce sighs. “A shame, that. So what, are you going to kill me now? Stop the train? And then what? There’s nothing out there. We made sure of that.” He smiles, all teeth like a shark.

Maybe they did, but Pierce doesn’t know about the furs they found, or whatever it was that Natasha saw that made her pause. “Maybe, but at least we won’t die here, trapped under your thumb.” 

“Have it your way,” Pierce says with a shrug. He snaps his fingers and growls out, _“Soldier, kill him.”_

Before Steve can react, Bucky is on him. He swings the shield around and Bucky’s metal fist connect, the sound resonating off the metal walls of the engine. The echo makes Steve grit his teeth. The reverb rings down into the muscle of his arm and took him off balance, enough for Bucky to strike out with his flesh hand. It catches Steve across the jaw and his head snaps back.

He tastes blood in his mouth but doesn’t hit back. Steve doesn’t want to hurt Bucky. He knows it’s not the omega’s fault, can even see the flicker in Bucky’s blue eyes. “Bucky, please!” he yells, dodging another punch. He uses the shield to knock Bucky away and out of reach. 

Bucky falters for a moment, but charges back with the metal fist in the air. He kicks out and knocks Steve off his feet. The breath rushes out of Steve’s lungs with a gasp. Bucky jumps on top of him and Steve barely has enough time to dodge the blur of metal coming at his face. 

He swings the shield and it clocks Bucky in the shoulder, hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor. “Bucky, you know me. You’re my best friend. You’re my-” _Omega. Mate. Everything._ Steve swallows down the words and gets back to his feet. He holds the shield in front of him as Bucky glares at him from the floor. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

A laugh echoes from somewhere behind him. “Why don’t you use your Voice? Stop him yourself? He won’t until I call him off,” Pierce’s voice rings out. 

Steve lets out a harsh breath as he and Bucky circle one another. He never takes his eyes off of the Omega. “I’m not you,” he repeats. He’d never forgive himself if he did that to Bucky. Instead, he says, “You’ve known me your entire life, Bucky. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” 

Bucky narrows his eyes and doesn’t stop circling him. He doesn’t speak.

“I’m not going to fight you. I won’t hurt you, not like they have.”

“Enough of this. _Soldier, finish it!”_

Bucky lets out a snarl and launches himself at Steve, knocking him to the ground again. He rips the shield out of Steve’s hand and throws it somewhere behind him. His fists begin to fly and Steve tries desperately to grab hold of his wrists. He cries out when the metal fist cracks against his cheekbone. Pain blossoms out from his jaw and he starts to struggle as more blows land. Blood floods his mouth and nose, staining Bucky’s fists. Black spots dance against the edge of his vision and he hurts, everything hurts. Despite the brutality of it, he can feel the hesitance in the blows. It’s all he has left.

“Bucky! Please, you know me,” he tries again, the words bubbling out of the ruin of his mouth. He glances up and sees Bucky pause above him, eyes wild and so wide he can see the whites of them. Steve coughs and spits out what might be a tooth. 

“I’ll kill you,” Bucky growls, his fist raised. Despite his words, he doesn’t move. 

“Then you’d better finish it, pal,” Steve manages to say. He lets his body go limp against the floor. His eye is swollen shut and his entire head throbs with pain. He can feel the muscles and bones starting to knit back together, but it won’t be enough if Bucky decides to bash his skull in with the metal fist. “Because I’m with you ‘til the end of line.”

He hasn’t said those words in so long; they taste like ash in his mouth. It’s what they used to tell each other when things got hard, when Steve got sick or Bucky had a rough day at work. They evolved from linked pinkies to kisses as they grew up. He braces himself for the blow, laying back and letting it happen. There’s nothing he can do now.

But it never comes. Bucky lets out a low whine and then rolls off of him. He’s clutching his head and muttering under his breath, too fast for Steve to understand what he’s saying. He growls and starts to shake his head back and forth. “Stop, stop, stop,” he whispers, voice getting louder. The sound echoes in Steve’s head and makes his head hurt. Bucky screams and folds his body in half. He lays motionless on the floor for a long moment before he slowly pulls his body back up.

Finally, Steve glances up and sees Bucky staring down at him with his mouth hanging open. “Steve?” he asks in a tiny voice. 

Steve nods, even though it makes his vision swim again. “Yeah, Buck,” he says. He licks the blood from his teeth and tries to smile. 

“I said _kill him!”_

Bucky still doesn’t move. His weight shifts and his eyes narrow again. Steve’s heart is in his throat as he waits for the other man to move. Then, Bucky is off like a shot and Steve hears someone scream. 

He lays against the floor and takes deep breaths. The pain of his face rearranging itself as it heals is absolute agony. It’s slow and he tries to keep from gnashing his teeth together, not wanting to make it worse. Steve has no idea how long he stays like that before Bucky’s face comes back into view. There’s a spatter of blood across his chin and his eyes are still wild. “I found them,” is all he says before he disappears from Steve’s field of vision. 

Slowly, Steve makes himself sit up even as his head aches. He bites back a wince as he glances around. There’s a rapidly growing pool of blood off to the corner that Steve makes a point not to look at. Instead, he seeks out where Bucky is clawing at one of the elaborate metal tiles in the floor. He manages to get to his feet and sways his way over. “What are you doing?” he croaks out. 

Bucky’s fingers keep scrabbling along the seam in the metal. “Smelled them, over here. Help me,” is all he says. 

That’s enough to spur him into action. He catches the lip of the metal with his fingertips and pulls it up, muscles bunching. The metal lets out a screech of protest as it’s lifted and Steve lets out a gasp when he sees what was hiding beneath the floor.

Hundreds of moving parts shift and hum. And in between the gears and pistons, the outlines of children are visible. They’re twirling knobs and flipping levers, like they’re a part of the machine.“Oh my god,” Steve breathes out, mouth hanging open in horror. “He’s…. using them as spare parts.” 

A muscle in Bucky’s face twitches and in a blur, he shoves his metal arm down into the guts of the engine. There’s a hair-raising sound of parts scraping together and Steve realizes that the moving parts have stopped. The floor begins to vibrate and the engine lurches, nearly sending them both flying. Bucky grits his teeth and looks at Steve. “Save them.”

Steve nods and glances down. One of the children stares up at him in confusion. “Come on, pal. I know I look rough, but I’m here to help you.” He reaches down, between two stalled pistons and holds out his hand. He holds his breath, not wanting to scare the kid any more. Finally, after what seems like eternity, a small hand takes his and he can lift him out. 

The child is skinny, enough that Steve can count his ribs, and his face is streaked with grease. His hair has been buzzed almost to the scalp. Steve doesn’t want to think about why. “How many more are there?” he asks softly. 

The little boy bites his lip and looks down at his feet. “Four. The others got too big and…” his voice trails off and Steve feels sick to his stomach. All at once he wishes that Pierce was still alive so he could kill him all over again. 

“It’s okay,” Steve soothes, gently guiding him out of the way. He turns back towards the opening and starts trying to coax the next child out. When he surfaces, crawling through the machinery, Steve recognizes him as the most recent little boy that Rumlow had taken. He lets out a relieved breath. 

He loses track of time as he manages to get the children, two girls and three boys, out of the way of the machine. The entire time Bucky keeps his metal arm shoved in between the gears. His face is pale and beads of sweat dot his brow, hair hanging in his face. Once the last one is out, Steve calls out, “Natasha? Sam?” His voice thunders against the walls and makes all of the children cower in a corner. 

The door swings open and Sam stands there, breathing harshly and holding his side. Blood stains the side of his shirt and his skin is a bit ashy, but at least he’s whole. “Steve, what-”

“Get them out of here. Take them somewhere safe, away from here. Please, hurry. And take cover, I don’t know what’s going to happen now that the engine is stopping!” He hadn’t missed the way the heat had started to rise from the stalled machinery, the bits of metal starting to glow orange. 

Sam’s mouth opens for a moment, as if to argue, but then snaps it shut again. “Come on, guys,” he says, motioning with his mobile arm. To Steve, he says, “Natasha took care of Rumlow. Get yourselves out of here as soon as possible.” Once the children are herded to his side, Sam lets out a deep breath and ushers them out as quickly as possible. 

“Go, Steve. You can’t stay here,” Bucky hisses through clenched teeth. His own arm is starting to glow the same orange and the waves of heat drift up. It’s making the ends of his hair curl and Steve can see where the seam of the metal and flesh is starting to bubble a little. “Go!” 

“Not without you!” Steve yells back, crawling over to Bucky. The heat is intense and he wants to flinch back, but he gets as close as he can. “I’m not leaving you again. Either we escape together, or we die here together.” His jaw is set and he plants himself down. 

Bucky glares. “You’re an idiot,” he says flatly. 

Steve smiles toothily. “It’s been remarked before.” 

With a sharp exhale through his nose, Bucky lets out a snarl and starts to attempt to tug his arm back. It doesn’t budge and a sickening ripping noise fills the air, accompanied by another screech of metal on metal. Bucky lets out a cry of pain but shoves Steve when he tries to help. He takes a deep breath, chest expanding, and pulls. There’s a crack and loud pop and the next thing Steve knows, he’s looking at Bucky’s arm completely separated from his body. 

Bucky tilts to the side and heaves. The motion shows the metal stump that’s left, exposed wires sparking and the edges jagged. It’s horrifying to look at. 

“Come on, Bucky, we gotta go.” Steve tries to help him to his feet, but Bucky’s dead weight against his side. The bright orange metal now burns red-hot and the heat is almost too much; there’s no getting around the explosion that’s going to happen. 

“Leave me,” Bucky slurs, but Steve ignores him. His own body aches from the vicious beating Bucky had given him, but he can’t stop now. 

“I told you, not without you,” Steve repeats. He makes it a couple more steps before the weight of them both becomes too much. Crawling across the floor is the only option they have. They manage to get behind the raised space that Pierce had used for cooking the food he’d offered him. He tucks Bucky behind him and covers his body with his own. “Together, or not at all.”

“Punk,” Bucky manages to wheeze out. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, even though his eyes are hazy with pain. It feels like a punch to Steve’s gut. 

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but the thundering boom of the explosion cuts off anything he’d might have said. Fire roars around them and Steve can feel it lick his back, through his clothes and against his skin, white-hot and blinding. He does his best to cover them both with his shield, to protect them from the shrapnel flying everywhere. 

He just keeps Bucky held close to him. No matter what happens, the two of them are here, together. And that’s enough for now. Even with fire burning down the world around them, they have each other. 

“Steve…” 

“I know, Buck. I’m here.”


	8. Part VIII-Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art warning! explicit nsfw art at the end of the chapter!

EPILOGUE

Bucky startles into consciousness, the last remnants of his nightmare slipping away. The blankets next to him are cold, meaning that Steve has probably been up for hours. He contemplates rolling over and going back to sleep, but there’s a familiar tug in his gut that tells him sleep won’t be easy to find.

Ten months. Ten long months of nightmares and sifting through memory fragments that were stolen from him. He’s dealt with withdrawals from the suppressants and the constant fear that someone would use their Voice on him again. Even Steve, who was endlessly patient and gentle with him, made him flinch.

Despite that, Steve has been his constant. At first, his memories of Steve were hazy and Bucky occasionally forgot who the Alpha was, but his scent and his face were enough to bring him back. Especially now that Steve is bigger, the Alpha he was always supposed to be. Steve has stuck by him through his entire recovery and Bucky couldn’t be more grateful.

The thought of his Alpha is enough to make him shiver. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way, felt the pull of heat deep down in his belly. Sam told him that the suppressants he’d been on might keep him from ever having another heat, so the mere thought of being able to have that again makes want sing through his bones.

He needs to find his Alpha.

Leaving the warmth of his blanket nest, Bucky quickly gets dressed and pulls on his lush fur coat before stepping outside. He blinks against the sunlight and steps out into the snow.

It’s been ten months since they stopped the train. He and Steve had barely made it through the explosion; the fact that they were hidden and covered by Steve’s shield is what saved them. Steve’s friend Natasha had dug them out of the rubble.

The first couple of months had been hard. No one was quite sure what to do, and despite Natasha’s insistence that she’d seen life outside the train, people were skeptical. Those in the front desperately wanted the engine restored, for the train to move again. Their creature comforts came first. It had taken a lot of convincing and them finally realizing just what Pierce had planned to do for them to understand. Thankfully, the books and things Steve had found on his journey through the train were salvageable. It took patience and perseverance, but they’d managed it. With everyone working together, contributing what they could, they’d built from the ground up, from scratch.

Now, the colony is thriving. It’s still cold, but with Howard’s help, the greenhouses from the train still allow them to grow enough to feed the people. Sturdy shelters made from the scrap metal keep out the worst of the cold. The temperature is rising and melts can be seen all around them. Some days, Bucky can even find animal prints in the snow. The sun shines and small, frail shoots can be seen jutting up from the ground.

People wave and greet Bucky as he walks through the settlement. He nods and does his best to smile back, hurrying as fast he can to find Steve. Any other day, he’d stop and chat, but finding his Alpha is his priority.

He stumbles across Howard, sitting in front of his shelter with his infant son strapped to his chest. The baby burbles happily as Howard peers over what looks like blueprints. “Have you seen Steve?” he asks, holding out a finger for the child to take.

Howard managed to salvage and rebuild Bucky’s arm with spare parts. He’d said, “I did it once, I can do it again.” The new one isn’t as sleek or refined as the first one, but Bucky is grateful all the same.

“Not since this morning. I think he and Peggy were supposed to be checking the new shelters. Here, what do you think about this?” Howard answers distractedly. He shoves the blueprints at Bucky. “I was just thinking about a different design for the filtration system. I think if I just add-”

Bucky interrupts, “I need to find Steve.”

The other Omega blinks up at him, before he smiles like a shark. “Oh, I see. Well, best be off then, shouldn’t you?” He gives Bucky a knowing wink.

As Bucky walks off, he can hear Howard talking to the baby, “Well, you’ll look at my plans, won’t you? Tell me what you think?” The baby just coos and Howard laughs.

It hits Bucky in the gut just how much he wants that. Maybe it’s the heat slowly starting to thread through his veins. Maybe it’s just that he’s finally got his head on mostly straight. Whatever it is, Bucky knows he’d love nothing more than to carry Steve’s baby. After months and months of no heat, his body still messed up from the drugs that had been pumped through it, the idea of _finally_ getting to share a heat with his Alpha was exciting.

Well, not his Alpha yet, but Bucky is planning on fixing that, too.

He continues on through the settlement. He stops briefly at Natasha’s to inquire about Steve’s whereabouts, but she and Sam are nowhere to be found. He doesn’t stay long, the smell of Natasha and Sam mixed together making his nose twitch. Eventually he finds Sam in front of the medical tent, the Beta soothing a crying child. “There, there. That means you’ll stay out of the trees, won’t you?” he teases, even as he wraps the child’s arm.

“You know he won’t. As soon as he’s healed up, he’ll be back in the branches,” the child’s mother huffs. It’s fond, and Bucky smiles despite the desperate feeling crawling up his spine. “Thank you, Sam. I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”

Once the two leave, Sam looks at Bucky and his eyebrows jump to his hairline. “Well I guess you proved me wrong. Do you...need anything?”

Bucky squirms. “No...I want...no,” he says finally, hoping Sam will understand.

Sam’s eyes soften and he smiles at him. “All right. If it helps, I wish you the best of luck. I’m happy for you, man.” He claps Bucky on the shoulder before disappearing back inside the tent.

It doesn’t take long to find Steve after that. He and Natasha are holed up with Peggy, discussing the establishment of new hunting grounds. Any other time, Bucky would be excited to join in. He’s one of the best hunters the settlement has, but right now, food isn’t anywhere on his mind. “Steve?” he calls out. He winces at the whine underneath his words.

Steve glances up. “Oh, hey, Bucky. Are you-” he starts to say, but then he stops abruptly. His mouth falls open just a bit his pupils start to dilate. Bucky’s scent is getting stronger as time wears on, and Steve must have caught it in the air. “You’re going into heat?”

Natasha snorts and Peggy rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too. “Go on, Steve. We can handle this,” she says as she shoos him out of his chair.

As soon as Steve is on his feet, he presses his entire body along Bucky’s back and noses along his neck. It makes Bucky whimper a bit. “You smell so good, god I’ve missed the way you smell in heat…” Steve rumbles at him.

“Steve, stop being an animal and take your mate back to your shelter,” Natasha says drily.

Steve growls a little bit, but Bucky elbows him in the stomach. “She’s right, let’s go.” He grabs Steve by the arm and tugs him out of the building they use for meetings. The two of them practically run back to their shelter, Bucky’s heart pounding and heat still crawling up his spine. The proximity of the Alpha is enough to make his blood run a little hotter. Once inside, Steve crowds Bucky up against the far wall, warm hands skating along his stomach. “Steve, please,” he begs.

He’s never been able to feel the exact moment that his heat started before. The way warmth tingles in his pelvis and the sheer _want_ that licks across his skin makes him desperate. He claws at Steve’s clothing with eager hands.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Steve soothes. He takes hold of Bucky’s chin and tilts his face up so that their eyes meet. “Are you sure? I don’t want-”

Bucky silences him with a fierce kiss. The press of their lips and the slick of Steve’s tongue against his makes Bucky moan. He rolls his hips up against Steve’s and nearly bites his lip when he feels Steve’s cock through his pants, hard and huge. Just the thought of finally having Steve knot him, _bond him_ , while he’s in heat has his blood singing. “Steve, shut up. If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be.” He flexes his muscles and the mechanics in his arm whirr with the movement.

Steve chuckles and leans down to drag his lips along the line of Bucky’s jaw. “Just making sure,” he whispers, tongue darting out to lap at the tendons in his neck.

The soft skin of Steve’s cheek smooths along Bucky’s skin, making it tingle. “You worry too much.” He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair and lets out a little growl when Steve bites down on his collarbone. “I want you to have my heat, I want your knot, I want your bond,” he murmurs lowly. Steve’s kisses feel like lightning skittering across his skin and he can already feel himself getting slick.

“Then you’ll have it. Whatever you want,” Steve replies. He steps back and tugs off Bucky’s coat and his shirt, eyes dark.

It has taken a long time for Bucky to accept the way his body is now. There are times when he still shies away from Steve’s appreciative gaze, unable to comprehend why he’d look at him like that. The scars that litter his skin and the way his muscles bulge and stretch make him feel ugly. Some days are better than others, but right then, Steve’s gaze makes him feel powerful. This Alpha could be brought to his knees with the spread of his legs and that makes Bucky burn even hotter.

“I want you,” Bucky says simply. His eyes don’t leave Steve’s as he unbuttons his pants and lets them fall to the floor. He steps out of them and sinks to his knees, then down to his elbows. His heart pounds as his ass lifts in the air. His first burst of wetness already slicks his cheeks and his thighs, probably shiny even in the low light of their nest.

Steve cannot get out of his clothes fast enough. The normally graceful Alpha stumbles as he sheds his clothing and drops to the floor. He crawls over to Bucky and puts his hands all over him, touching and kissing whatever part he can reach. “The way you smell, Bucky...never could smell it so strong before,” Steve gasps as he kisses down the length of Bucky’s spine.

Bucky shivers at the praise. “Good?” he rasps, wiggling his hips.

“The best, God, you have no idea.” Steve’s fingers dig into the flesh of his ass and pulls him open. The cold air and the exposure of his hole makes Bucky whimper again. “Remember how I used to do this? Use my tongue and my fingers to satisfy your heat?” Steve dips the tip of his thumb inside of him, just a tease.

“This time I’ll get your knot,” Bucky commands. Just the thought of it makes him squirm.

Steve huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he dips down and drags his tongue across the wet of Bucky’s hole. The first touch makes Bucky jump a little, but then he keens and shoves his hips back. The way Steve fucks him with his tongue makes him moan and claw at the sheets. His body is already sensitive with his heat and the feeling is so, so good. The obscene slurps and sucking noises Steve’s letting out as he eats Bucky out make his head spin.

“Steve, oh fuck, oh god,” Bucky cries out. His cock is hard and throbbing, wet at the tip and already he can feel the beginnings of his orgasm building. This isn’t the first time they’ve had sex since they’d reunited, but everything about the heat just makes it _more._ He’s leaking slick and Steve keeps on thrusting his tongue, hot and wet, as deep as he can go.

He has no idea how long Steve licks and sucks at him. His entire body is shaking and his cock bobs against his stomach as he spirals closer and closer. The pressure builds at the base of his spine and he starts to rock back against Steve’s mouth. It feels divine. “Close, so close,” he chants. Finally, he hits his peak and he comes, cock flexing as he spatters the blankets beneath him. Steve doesn’t stop, relentless as he licks Bucky through his orgasm.

It’s only when the shaking stops does Steve move back. Bucky glances over his shoulder to see Steve wiping at his mouth, shiny with slick and his pupils blown black. “You taste so good,” Steve growls, licking at his swollen lips. His own cock is curved up against his belly, the head a plummy red and the beginnings of his knot bulging at the base.

It makes Bucky’s mouth water just looking at it. He smirks and sits up, knee-walking over to Steve and shoving him down against the bedding. He wraps his flesh hand around the bulge of Steve’s knot and squeezes, pulling a low groan out of his Alpha that makes heat flare in him again. The orgasm was good, but Bucky knows exactly what he wants. “Glad,” is all he says, stroking Steve slowly. Steve’s cock twitches against his palm.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes out. His head falls back and Bucky chases the flush down his chest with his tongue. He teases each of Steve’s nipples with the tip of his tongue just long enough for each of them to pebble in the cool air, before he throws his leg over Steve’s hips. They’re pressed flush, and he wraps his hand around both of their cocks. The tease is maddening, but worth the way Steve is gasping. “Can’t wait to feel you, going to be so good,” Steve manages to say.

Bucky strokes them both a couple more times before letting go. He rolls his hips down against Steve’s cock and moans when the head bumps against the wet mess of his hole. He’s aching, ready to be fucked and filled. “Steve,” he whines, exposing the line of his neck. His scent is thick in the air and his bonding glands are swollen and tender. He can see the way Steve’s eyes go even darker at the willful act of submission he’s offering. It makes him shiver.

“Look at you, all mine,” Steve growls. He reaches down between their bodies and grabs his cock, pointing it up and deliberately rubbing it against where Bucky’s slick and hot.

“Yes, yours,” Bucky answers. He knows Steve is waiting, letting him run the show here. But Bucky is tired of waiting. He starts to sink down, hissing when the thick head of Steve’s cock breaches him. The stretch stings, but the sting makes bolts of heat radiate out from where they’re connected and every nerve feels like it’s singing.

He drops down, inch by inch, biting his lip against the feeling of Steve filling him up. When he bottoms out, he can feel the beginning swell of Steve’s knot against his hole, a tease for what’s to come. He can’t wait, getting to have his Alpha’s knot for the first time. “Fuck,” he grits out, bracing himself on Steve’s broad chest with his hands.

Steve lets him take his time, hands firmly gripping Bucky’s hips. “Perfect,” he murmurs. His eyes are hazy and his cheeks are still flushed; Steve has never looked more beautiful. “Love you so much, Buck, god I’ve wanted this for so long.” Steve looks up to meet Bucky’s gaze, his eyes soft.

The babble makes Bucky chuckle a little, but hearing Steve so breathlessly sweet has him hotter than ever. He’ll never get tired of hearing Steve say it, even when he couldn’t always handle it. “Love you too,” Bucky whispers back, face tilted down. He starts to rock his hips, hissing at the slow slide up Steve’s length before dropping back down. Heat twists in his belly as he fucks himself up and down. He’s full, so full, and it’s perfect. His own cock is hard again, curved up against his belly with precome beading at the tip. Just the feeling of being so full has him throbbing.

“Love you like this, all full of me, god look at you,” Steve continues to grind out as Bucky rides him.

Bucky speeds up his thrusts, chasing the feeling. His fingers scrape down Steve’s chest and leave red weals in their wake. Steve moans and Bucky squeaks when he sits up so that they’re pressed chest to chest. Bucky’s cock rubs against the hard muscles of his stomach and it makes him hiss through his teeth. He’s leaving wet trails along his Alpha’s skin and it sends a thrill through him. Steve is marked by him, just as much as he’ll be marked by Steve when he bites him.

He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and pulls him close. He can feel Steve nosing along his jaw, right where his bonding gland sits swollen beneath his skin. Just the slightest touch against it makes him tremble and his cock flex. “Steve, want you to,” he says as he continues bouncing up and down on Steve’s cock.

The warmth of Steve’s tongue against his skin shocks a moan out of him. Steve traces the line of his shoulder down to where metal meets flesh, kissing and licking along the web of scars. Bucky used to hate them, still does sometimes, but how can he when Steve is giving them such worshipful attention? “Yeah? Now? Want me to bite you while you’re so close? I can feel it, smell it on you.” He thrusts up and Bucky lets out a cry when the heft of his knot bumps against him. “I want to knot you first.” He licks and sucks some more at the scarred skin, making Bucky shiver a little.

Bucky’s so okay with that. He rides down as Steve fucks up and it’s absolutely heavenly. Pleasure tightens in his belly and bites down on Steve’s shoulder when the knot pops inside him. It doesn’t hurt, his hole too slick and open from heat to be a bother. He clenches around it and he throws his head back.

Everything gets tight and deliciously achy as Steve’s knot swells and it gets harder to thrust. The feeling alone is enough to rocket him to the edge. The knot of pleasure low in his gut gets tight but he can’t-

Until Steve’s hand worms his way between them and grips his cock. He doesn’t even stroke, just lets Bucky fuck the circle of his fist as best he can. The dry rub of it hurts in the best way and it’s enough to send Bucky over. His cock throbs as he comes, wet and sticky all over Steve’s fingers. He grinds down against the swell of the knot and he feels the moment it locks them tight together.

Steve lets out a growl when he starts to come, the heat of it adding to the aftershocks of Bucky’s own orgasm. Before he can come down, Steve leans in and bites down.

It hurts and Bucky flinches, but the world feels like it turns upside down. His skin feels too small, like he’s going to burst out of it at any second. Stars burst behind his eyes and there’s a warm weight that settles into the middle of his chest, right behind his sternum. His mind swirls and all he can feel and hear is _Steve, Steve, Steve._ He claws at the skin of Steve’s back and could swear that he comes again just from the pain and the pleasure rioting through him.

He gasps and when reality seems to right itself, he can feel Steve lapping at his neck. The wound is tender and hot but he doesn’t want his Alpha, his _mate_ to stop. “That was…” he tries, but words fail him. Everything feels delicate and new and he clings more tightly to Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles in his ear. He nuzzles along his hairline. His mouth is bright red and tastes like fresh blood when they kiss. Bucky doesn’t care.

He shifts and whines a little at the way Steve’s knot tugs at his hole, but he squirms happily when another wave of come fills him up. It’s _so much._ He bites his lip and rubs at his belly, thinking about the possibilities. Bucky lets himself settle, arms still wrapped around Steve as they sit tied together. Steve busses sweet little kisses against his jaw, his cheeks, even his nose.

Bucky takes advantage of the peace, already feeling the embers of his heat starting to burn a little hotter in his belly. For now, he just sits pressed against Steve and takes in the feeling of his mate’s heartbeat against his own.

Outside, the sun shines. The snow melts and everything begins to thaw, to warm. Birds can be heard singing in the distance. The world is waking up, slowly from the slumber it had been forced into for so long.

The world begins again.

-END-

chapter art by [cobaltmoony](https://cobaltmoonysart.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Love it? Let us know here or at [hazandlouwho](http://hazandlouwho.tumblr.com) or [cobaltmoony](http://cobaltmoony.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr!


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